Wild Rose

It was a slow process but finally Rose was sitting upright on the bed. John was nowhere in sight. Sweat broke out on her brow as she struggled to stand, the days of drugs and inactivity having weakened her considerably, and with the poor nutrition and little water she'd been given it was really no wonder that her legs trembled.

The walls seemed to sway inwards as she staggered, arms outstretched, to the trap door in the ceiling. Expecting to hear John's heavy footsteps at any moment, she drug the rickety chair under the door and precariously climbed upon it. Her arms trembled with the exertion of pushing the door open and it was a battle of strength she didn't have to pull herself up through the opening. She lay on the floor weakly when she made it through, panting.

She sighed and pushed her upper body up, not able to contain a gasp of surprise when she saw where she was. It was an old ranch house that she'd explored with Jamie when she was younger. She knew it top to bottom, and it was only a few miles from the Bar M.

The knowledge buoyed her, and she climbed to her feet, and hurried out the door, shocked and suspicious when John didn't come to stop her. Daring to hope she could get home, she staggered down the porch stairs and in the direction of the McCloud's land.

It seemed she was in one of her dreams where she ran for miles without going anywhere, but she actually was stumbling along over rocks and clumps of grass at a steady pace. The abandoned farmhouse John had held her in for so long still loomed ominously over her shoulder.

"Can I help you there Miss?"

The gruff voice startled her, and she would have screamed but found her voice hoarse and scratchy. She relaxed when she recognized the man sitting on the horse in front of her. He was a traveling Catholic priest from Blue Creek who made a trip once a month to Sweetwater.

"Are you hurt, or lost?"

Rose could imagine she must look a sight, even in her cloudy haze. She still had on the white night gown John had put her in soon after taking her from the ranch, but it was torn and stained with blood, dirt, grime, and sweat. Her hair was dirty and oily, and her skin was covered in streaks of filth.

"Please, I have to…" Rose whispered, but was interrupted.

"Ah, you've found her, praise the Lord!"

Rose cringed and shrank from the voice. She didn't turn around, but felt John's hand clench on her elbow with a grip that was sure to bruise her.

"I apologize, Father, my wife is rather ill," John was telling the priest, "She's lost a child recently, you see, and it's affected her mind a little."

"That so?" The priest wondered, looking at Rose as if to judge if he was telling the truth.

Rose would have cried out that he was lying, but realized that John would kill him, and then he'd be no help. She remained silent, but did her best not to look mad, letting her eyes bore into his.

The priest looked at John, "You should keep a better eye on her, son. She'll hurt herself out here."

Rose felt despair clench her chest, thinking he really believed John. However, as he turned to ride away to John's promises to be more careful in looking after her, Rose could have sworn the priest winked at her.

Teaspoon was sitting solemnly at his desk, watching Jamie and Kid pour over maps of the territory. They'd been looking for Rose for almost three weeks, and hadn't found the slightest hint to where she might be. Teaspoon was too knowledgeable about the minds of criminals to have much hope of finding her alive. He couldn't bring himself to tell the men he loved as son and grandson that. Jamie had just ridden in from Willow Springs, and the boy looked like hell. He was pale and drawn, and his cheekbones were beginning to hollow out because he wouldn't eat properly.

A visitor broke his train of thoughts.

"Father McKee," he said by way of greeting the Catholic priest.

"Marshal, I have something I feel I should report to you. It may be nothing, but I will feel better if I tell you."

"Certainly," Teaspoon nodded, and waved to a chair in front of his desk, "What is it?"

"Well, I was riding into town and saw a girl wandering in the field near that old farmhouse that borders the McClouds land. I thought it was abandoned, but I guess I was wrong. I asked the girl if she needed help, and she told me she did, but before I could do anything else, a young man appeared. Said the girl had gone daft with a miscarriage, but I daresay the girl looked to be in her right mind, although in bad condition."

Jamie stood up so quickly his chair clattered to the ground, "What did she look like? Where is she now?"

"Pretty girl. Probably about sixteen or so. Red hair, blue eyes, I think."

Jamie, Kid, and Teaspoon exchanged shocked glances. They'd turned over every rock in the surrounding territory but it had never occurred to them to look in their own back yard.

"He'll move her now, we have to go," Jamie said suddenly.

"Let's ride," Kid agreed and watched as Teaspoon grabbed his gun.

Lady was tied up outside since Jamie had just returned from Willow Springs, and he leapt on her.

"You wait for us, Jamie!" Kid warned him, but Jamie was already wheeling Lady and urging her into a gallop.

"There's no time!" Jamie called back over his shoulder.

"Idiot!" Kid muttered and glanced and Teaspoon, "Let's get the horses before he gets himself killed."

"Reminds me of you running after Lou," Teaspoon pointed out as they broke into a run toward the Livery stable.

Kid sighed as they thundered through town. It was so easy to forget that Jamie was a man, and more than that a man who looked at Rose the way he looked at Lou.

"No!" Rose thundered as John pulled out the familiar syringe, "No more!"

"Shh, you've gone and gotten upset. We're going to be moving today Rose. I'm taking you home."

"You're taking me back?" Rose asked suspiciously.

"No. Home, Rose. To England."

"You're mad, John, you really are! I want you to think for one minute, please!" Rose struggled to stay alert and focused, having the feeling her future depended on it. She watched his hand as he finished drawing the drug into the syringe, and began talking quickly, "John, listen to me. You can't keep me drugged the rest of my life. I'm never going to love you, and sooner or later I'll have the chance to escape again, and I'll take it. And one day I'll get away from you. Let me go now and go back to England and I won't tell anyone what you've done!"

John ignored her, murmuring endearments as he pulled her arm out. Rose glanced down at the ugly needle marks on the inside of her elbow and taking a deep breath, tensed her muscle. She hesitated a moment too long, and John jabbed the needle into her arm before she struck out with both arms and legs, knocking him off the bed and rolling out of the other side, not paying attention to the prick of the needle still in her arm. She groped wildly along the wall, heading for the door.

A blunt blow made contact with her lower back and she went sprawling across the floor with a grunt. John leapt on her from behind, his hands tearing at her hair and skin in a fury she hadn't seen from him before.

"That's it Rose, I've waited and waited, and been so good to you! And this is how you repay me? I'll wait no more! Ask me to make love to you, now."

"You're a crazy bastard!" Rose spat at him, "No!"

"I told you once I'd never do anything you didn't ask me to, but I have ways of making you ask Rose, and you're not going to like them any more than the others."

He was still behind her, so she heard rather than saw him pull a knife from his boot. With deft hands that she was no match for with her rapid loss of orientation, he turned her to her back and hovered over her, quickly injecting the rest of the sedative into her bloodstream and pulling out the needle.

"Ask me Rose," John demanded in a voice that was calm.

"Is this what you did to the other girls? And when they refused you, you just killed them?"

John shook his head, "No, not at all. I cut off their ears when they wouldn't ask. Then, I got bored with them and killed them. Except the mayor's wife. She was a fighter, that one. Made me cut myself with my own knife. I won't get bored with you for a long while yet."

"So you blamed Carlos when Mrs. Baines cut you. That was quick thinking," Rose muttered bitterly.

"Thank you," he replied, unperturbed by the fury in her voice. He methodically wiped the knife blade on his pants leg and looked at her, "One more chance to ask me Rose."

Rose watched with wide eyes as he brought the knife past her face, and held it behind her good ear lobe. His finger caressed the front of the lobe gently.

"Should I make them match, or will you ask me Rose?"

For a cowardly moment, she considered giving in, thinking that it would be better to be raped than mutilated, and remembering clearly the pain of losing her other ear years ago. However, looking into John's eyes, she realized she'd never recover if he touched her that way.

"Go to Hell," she growled, then shrieked in pain as the knife sliced hotly into the tender skin of her earlobe.

"Rose!" Jamie screamed moments after her own shriek had pierced the air. He struggled with the locked front door, and figured out that John had barred it from the inside.

He moved to the window of the old farmhouse and drew back his fist, plunging it through a window as Rose yelled again. Not feeling the cuts that spilled blood between his fingers, he knocked the rest of the glass out, and crawled into the house.

"John!" He thundered in a rage, "You'd better get the hell away from her! Where are you Rose?"

"Jamie!" The call was filled with fear and relief, but followed by another cry of pain that raised the hair on Jamie's arms. He dashed through the house calling her, but she was silent.

Rose kicked and bit at the hand covering her mouth, trying desperately to help Jamie find her. John looked completely out of his mind, all traces of the quick witted Englishman gone and replaced by a monster tearing at his and her clothes, intent on the task he'd set his mind to.

Finally, his hand slipped and Rose took the opportunity to bite his finger with all her might. His own cry led Jamie to them.

He shouldn't have been surprised that John was waiting for him, but felt his breath leave him when his eyes fell on them. John was on top of Rose, half undressed and looking steadily back at him. A knife was pressed close to Rose's throat, and blood covered one side of it.

"Jamie," she whispered his name, a combination of a warning and a plea, then was quiet.

"Get off her John, right now," Jamie ordered softly, a quiet warning, but a deadly one.

"You drop the gun or I'll slit her throat like I did the others," John gave a warning of his own. He suddenly smiled at Jamie, "Surprised, weren't you, to find it was me? Thought I was a lazy drunk, did you?"

"John, let her go, you can walk away," Jamie lied, ignoring his mind games.

"I told you to drop the gun, Jamie," John responded.

They were both perfectly still. Rose, knowing her life hung in the balance, was silent.

"John…"

"Jamie," John said in the same tone, and applied more pressure to the blade. Rose breathed in sharply and bit her lip as the point pricked her skin. Her heart felt as if it rested right at the base of her throat, just beneath the knife.

Jamie, seeing the small drop of blood that oozed from the prick, as well as the quickening pulse in the column of Rose's throat quickly held up his hands, "Okay! Okay, John, I'll drop it! Just don't hurt her!"

"Don't do it Jamie, he'll kill me anyway, and you too!"

"Shut up!" John snapped at her, taking his other hand and cracking it across her mouth hard.

Jamie took a long step forward, but John growled and repositioned the knife, "No you don't! Kick it over here."

Jamie obeyed despite the looks from Rose that begged him not to.

"Good," John said when he held the gun, "Now, I'll deal with you in a few minutes. Rose, where were we? Oh yes, you were going to ask me to make love to you, right?"

"No!" Jamie and Rose cried out at the same time, but when John pointed the revolver at Jamie's head, they both fell silent.

"Well, you wouldn't ask to save your own neck, but what about his? Ask me Rose, or I'll put a bullet in him!"

"No Rose! I'd rather die than him touch you!" Jamie protested, feeling a cold sweat cover him from head to toe. He'd never felt more helpless. Here she was three yards away and he couldn't do a damn thing to help her.

It wasn't so simple for Rose. Or rather, it was that simple, but for the other option. Her honor for Jamie's life. A small price, she thought.

Rose swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, and avoiding Jamie's eyes at all costs she nodded, "Okay John, you win."

"Rose!" Jamie's cry was desperate, but when John raised the knife on Rose, he again shut up.

"No Rose, I want you to ask," John insisted.

Jamie couldn't stop himself as he begged her, "Please, Rose, don't do this!"

Rose hesitated, fury, pride, and fear mixing in her blood, which seemed to slow to a crawl. She took a deep breath, praying for courage.

John cocked the hammer of the gun trained on Jamie as an incentive for her to hurry with her question.

"John-okay. You can have me."

"No, Rose. You don't understand. I want you to ask me to make love to you."

Jamie shook his head, feeling sick. He knew John was a lunatic, but he'd never dreamed such madness existed. John would really believe when Rose asked him, although forced to do so, that she loved and wanted him.

"John," Rose's voice was not her own, and sweat beaded on her forehead, "Would you m-make l-love to m-me?"

Jamie gagged, and felt he would vomit. John, in a flurry of movement, began pushing the night dress up. Seeing the pistol still pointed at Jamie's head, Rose offered no resistance. John laid the knife by her and began fumbling with his belt.

As soon as the knife was clear of Rose's throat, Jamie let out a snarl that was not entirely human and bolted.

Everything else happened with fast, and yet Rose could recall every detail with amazing clarity for the rest of her life.

John lurched off her, his elbow grinding into her ribs, as he took aim. She screamed and knocked his arm as he squeezed the trigger. The gun roared right above her face, and she saw the flash of fire from the barrel, smelled the pungent odor of gunpowder, heard Jamie's hoarse cry of surprise.

The carved ivory handle of the knife was smooth between her fingers. The strength with which her arm moved was many times greater than it should have been, due to the adrenaline flooding into her blood and battling the morphine and opium. The blade glided smoothly, almost gracefully between John's shoulder blades. His eyes went wide with shock. A mad rage seemed to grip her as she withdrew the knife and plunged it into his back again. And again, and again, on and on in a desperate fury. Even as he collapsed bonelessly on top of her, she still stabbed him, ignoring the glancing blow of the blade when it struck bone and jolted her whole arm. A saloon girl, Elizabeth Walker, the mayor's wife, Carlos, and now Jamie, she did it for them.

She wasn't sure how long she might have gone on, moving the knife in and out of the body with frantic horror, but she was sure she wouldn't have stopped as soon as she did if Jamie hadn't appeared at her side, rolling John off of her and dragging her into a rough embrace that might have broken her bones if she hadn't been clinging to him just as tightly.

Jamie wasn't sure which of them was trembling worse. Their mutual shaking rocked them closer. "It's over now," he said simply in a voice that he used on frightened or hurt animals.

Her head burrowed further into his chest, and he pulled her closer. She smelled of blood, sweat, grime, and now John, the result of days in the heat of the summer held captive in an underground hole. The fear, the opium, and the illness mingled with the other smells, and yet, even under that he could smell the faintest twinge of the lilac water she always used. The scent was as much a part of her as her red hair, and he allowed relief to course through his veins.

"Is he dead?" Rose asked suddenly, trying to look to see for herself.

Jamie pushed her head back into his chest, not wanting her to see the bloody body, "He's dead, honey. He won't hurt you again."

Her trembling didn't ease though, "I didn't want to stop till he was dead," she said through teeth that chattered.

"I know you didn't. If you had stopped, I wouldn't have," he assured her.

"Did he hurt you?" She asked quietly, "Are you hit?"

Jamie shook his head, "He clipped my arm and it knocked me down, I'm fine. You saved my life you know."

"Jamie! Jamie, where are you! Rose?" Kid's voice was frantic, and not without good reason, Jamie thought suddenly. He had ridden off without them like a bat out of hell.

"Down here! The cellar in the kitchen," He called to them, "We're okay!"

Kid and Teaspoon were quick in making it to the trap door and looked down in the dim room.

"You're alright?" Kid asked doubtfully, seeing the blood on Jamie's sleeve and Rose's neck.

"Yes," Jamie and Rose gave the shaky answer, and Jamie added, "John's dead."

"Just as well," Kid said.

Jamie climbed to his feet, taking Rose with him, not missing the shudder as she looked around the small room, "Let's get you out of here, Rosie."

"Yes, let's get me out of here," Rose agreed, trying to smile but not quite succeeding.

She stretched her arms out to Kid as Jamie lifted her, and Kid grasped her tightly, sitting down on the floor after he hauled her up, and bending to kiss her cheek.

"Thank God, thank you God," he murmured as he brushed her hair back and looked in her eyes, "Oh Rose, I love you dearly!"

Something about his fatherly embrace and loving eyes, mixed with the sudden loss of adrenaline and the relief of what she'd escaped made Rose feel four years old. Giving in to the realization that she was safe and didn't have to keep her wits about her any longer, she finally sniffled once, then laid her head against Kid's chest and fell asleep knowing she was safe.

"Rider up ahead," Jamie called, and glanced at Kid and Rose. She'd finally given in to the pull of the drugs and was sleeping soundly against Kid's chest.

"Looks like Lou," Teaspoon noted.

"Is she okay?" Lou asked breathlessly as she urged Target to Belle's side and bent over Rose's sleeping form. Lou then looked at Jamie, and cried out when she saw the blood on his sleeve and hand, "Jamie? What happened, is it bad?"

"Just scratches, Mama," Jamie assured her, then smiled gently, "I told you we'd get her."

Lou looked into his eyes and realized with a jolt he really would have given his life to keep his vow to bring her home. The relief in his eyes couldn't be any less than hers had been when she'd finally brought Kid out of Point Lookout.

It was the first time she took the time to notice the depths of his love for Rose, and it thrilled and frightened her at the same time as she looked at Rose. There was no telling yet the horror of what she'd suffered, and no telling whether she'd ever move on completely.

"Is John dead?" She asked suddenly.

"Yes," Kid answered looking at her knowingly.

They nodded together. At least it was a start.

Rose drifted around her room restlessly, feeling as if her skin was too confining. She wanted to go outside and ride, but the doctor had told Lou to keep her in bed for a few days, until the last of the drugs were gone from her system, and even if he hadn't, none of the McClouds were anxious to let her out of their sight.

She was irritable, had a hellish headache, and wanted nothing more than to be alone, but she'd had a constant stream of visitors. Only now, three days after her return was she alone for a moment.

She couldn't, wouldn't, think about John. Even the determined thought not to was enough to send a chill down her spine. How she loathed him, loathed what he'd done to her, and yet, she pitied him as well. Pitied him for needing love so desperately that he had to force it onto someone.

Her hands trembled unsteadily, something the doctor warned her would happen for a few days as her body grew adjusted to the lack of drugs that had been such a part of her bloodstream for three weeks. She didn't think it was so much that as the memory of how her hands had closed around the knife and plunged into John's back, of how his hands had ripped at her skin.

It was all she could do to face Jamie. He'd been there, he'd seen her give in, swallow her pride and ask John to make love to her. Of course, she knew he didn't fault her for it, knew he realized she'd done it to save his life, but she felt cowardly and dirty for saying the words, and didn't like knowing he shared the memory.

It seemed unfitting to be back in her own room, with nothing there changed; well, almost nothing, she reflected. She was changed. She was angry at the futility of all the death that she'd witnessed in the past months, three women, and innocent man, and a lunatic, all dead. And for what? Because of one man's madness?

She opened a drawer and rifled through it idly, wanting to take her mind off John. She pulled back and muttered an oath when something sharp cut her finger. She sucked at the wound, and carefully removed the stockings in the drawer.

Her eyes widened as she pulled out the object that she encountered. Her father's badge. She still remembered her dream about him in great detail, one of the few things that she could think clearly about. She had been heartbroken when she discovered the badge was missing, but figured John had done away with it when he had changed her clothes. Was it possible, she wondered, that she'd put it in the drawer that night before John found her?

She shook her head. She hadn't gone to her room that night, she'd stayed downstairs. And she knew she had the star in her pocket during Carlos' funeral. It was possible that she'd dropped it around the station yard and someone had picked it up and brought it to her room, but there was no explanation why they would have put it in the drawer she used as a hiding place for things dear to her.

Chills swept up and down her arm. Jimmy's voice came to her, promising to keep the treasured badge safe for her. She shook her head in confusion, a battle waged between what her mind knew to be impossible and what her heart longed to be true. Had he really been there, watching over her?

She shivered, felt a warm hand on her shoulder, felt burning eyes on her face.

The gentle silence that seemed to embrace her did much to restore her peace of mind and heart.

It became an unspoken rule around the station that no one spoke of John to Rose. She healed quickly, and was soon back to her old chores. She even slowly smiled and laughed and regained some of the old spirit that they missed for her first few weeks back. The heat of summer gave way to the refreshing air of autumn, and as Rose turned eighteen, she finally felt like herself again.

Jamie watched her with concern and hope. He was well aware of Rose's shame around him, and although he dared not speak of it to her, he alleviated it by spending time with her, refusing to let her draw away from him.

Today, she was riding fence with him and smiling brightly.

Jamie was so happy to see her grinning that he didn't even realize his own mistake until he saw the smile fade slowly from her face.

"Oh," she murmured softly, eyes fixed ahead.

Jamie knew his stupidity at once. He'd made a mental note to avoid the fence line bordering the abandoned farmhouse, but had completely forgotten it as he absentmindedly made the rounds of checking the fence he always did.

"Oh, Rose, I'm sorry," Jamie began, "I meant to stay away from here."

Rose shook her head, not looking away from the rickety house, appearing so harmless against the bright blue sky, "I can't avoid it forever, you know." In admitting it to him, she had to believe it herself. She suddenly turned to look in his eyes, "Jamie, I want to go back."

"Rose, I don't know if that's a good…" her look stopped him short and he simply nodded, "okay, if you're sure."

They hobbled the horses near the fence, loosening their saddles and leaving them to graze and climbed through the barbed wire. Rose stuck close to Jamie's shoulder as they walked across the grass.

Jamie cast frequent glances at Rose, but said nothing. She was the picture of determination, her jaw squared and her teeth gritted. They crawled through the broken window.

Jamie hung back and let Rose take her own pace through the parlor, into the kitchen. She sighed and stared at the trap door.

"Rose, you know you don't have to do this," Jamie reminded her.

"I think I do, Jamie," was her quiet response.

Sighing, Jamie helped her pull up the door, and pushed her aside, jumping down first so that he could reach up and lift her down.

In the room again, he felt the bad memories assault him violently. Again, he was seeing John on top of her, the knife to her throat, intent on raping her. He'd only spent a few minutes in the underground hole and his skin crawled now. He couldn't imagine Rose's feelings after spending so much time there.

Not only could he not imagine what she was feeling, but he couldn't tell from her face either. It was set in stony lines, completely unreadable. He stayed where he was as she slowly journeyed around the room, hands clenched at her sides. She bent down suddenly and when she straightened Jamie saw the syringe in her hands. She studied it with the same expressionless eyes.

"I knew you'd find me," she said quietly.

Jamie nodded, "I'm glad. I'd never have stopped looking."

"I know," Rose said softly. Her eyes went to the wall, and she traced the stain of the laudanum she'd thrown at John when she first came to with her fingers.

She continued on her slow journey, lightly touching things, and Jamie was aware of the rare gift she was making to him of her confidence. She wouldn't talk at length about her experiences he knew, but she was opening up to him nonetheless. "I think he meant to kill me after he, um, had his way."

Jamie nodded, "I think you might be right. Rose, you may not want to hear, but Teaspoon had some news from back East about John."

She considered it, then wondered, "What?"

"He's done this before. He escaped England, but was wanted for murder, and in New York, he disappeared after several girls came up dead."

"Did he cut off their ears too?"

"No. It seems that the girl he was infatuated with there had a missing finger. And for the ones in England, it was a misshapen foot."

"So that's why he chose me. My ear."

Jamie shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. But I just wanted you to know, it wasn't anything you'd done. It wasn't your fault. It was him, Rose. He'd done it before and would have done it again. He was very sick."

The words were getting too close to breaching the wall she'd built around those memories, and she cleared her throat and changed the subject, "I saw my father. Clearly as day."

Jamie's eyes opened wide in shock, "What?"

"He came to talk to me. He told me things about my mother…about himself. He knew about me, even though I didn't tell him. He said he'd help me get out of here somehow."

Jamie felt his hair stand on end. Rose smiled slightly, "You think I've lost my mind."

"No!" Jamie said, coughing slightly in the dusty room, "It's just that…well, Rose, I don't know how to tell you this, but in Willow Springs I had a dream about him too. And he told me to come back home, that I'd find you if I did. He called you his daughter which I thought was strange in the dream, because I thought he didn't know. And so, I rode like Hell for home Rose, and within the hour of me getting there, Father Mckee came in."

He could see the goose bumps on Rose's arm as they stared at one another.

"Do you think it was him…somehow?" Rose whispered, hugging herself.

"Yes," Jamie said with certainty, although he'd never been superstitious, "I do."

Rose sighed, took a last look around the room, shivered, and then put it behind her forever.

To be continued...Chapter XIII

Copyright 1999

The Way Station
Campfire Tales

Email: gliterin@bellsouth.net