Hostages of the Heart

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Hostages of the Heart - Part 5

He stared up at the ceiling, confused when he didn't recognize it at first. It wasn't the ceiling he had been looking up at for the past several days. Frowning, he looked around, quickly recognizing the room and just as quickly he realized that he was alone. His heart began to pound at the thought of being all alone, his breathing pacing his heart. Struggling to push himself to his elbows, he sought out any sign that he had company. Tired eyes tracking to the open door, he smiled as he saw a black-clad elbow peeking out beyond the doorframe. He dropped back to the pillow with a sigh, content that he was not alone after all.

Outside on the porch, Chris heard the movement inside his little shack. He turned in time to see Vin drop back to the mattress. Leaning inside, he said, "Vin? You awake?"

"Yeah," came the yawned reply.

The blond stepped into the dim, cool room and moved to the narrow bed. He looked down to find the younger man gazing back up at him. "How're you doing?"

"'Kay," Tanner said softly. "Tired a bein'...on m' back."

Larabee smiled. Vin had only been laying down a couple of hours, having slept sitting up in the buggy most of the way from town. However, he knew what his friend was saying. "You wanna go outside?"

His smile lighting up his haggard face, he said only, "wouldn't mind it."

Nodding, the other man helped him back into his boots, slipping the suspenders over his shoulders. Pulling Vin to his feet, Chris slipped an arm around him, and guided the thin man outside. Settling Tanner on the ladder-back he had just left, he retreated to the cabin and returned with a second chair and a pillow. Propping the long legs up on the chair, he slipped the pillow behind his friend. Finishing, he said, "you okay? Warm enough?"

Frowning, the sharpshooter slanted a look upward and said, "thought I left m' nursemaid back in town."

With a wry grin in answer, Larabee squeezed the frail shoulder and fetched his friend a cup of water. Trying not to look as if he were hovering, he waited until Tanner finished, setting the container on the table at his elbow, before he moved away. Taking a seat on an upturned bucket and leaning back against the porch upright, he kept an eye on the Texan. The two men spoke little, simply enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside.

"Y' know," Vin said quietly after a time, "didn't think I'd ever wanna be outside again. Got t' th' point I hated th' sun...couldn't hardly tolerate th' sunrise. Made me angry at first...then sort 'a sad....I always loved th' sunrise."

"I'm sorry, Vin - "

Holding up a hand, the tracker said, "Y' done apol'gized, Chris, an' I done accepted it. Let's don't go through all that again."

The older man chuckled, "you're right...I'm sorry," he apologized now for apologizing.

The long-haired man smiled, but said nothing. Then he sobered and continued, "I done forgave th' sun, Chris. Ain't it's fault for what happened t' me... no more'n what happened is your fault."

Larabee sighed, clasping his hands before he dropped them between his knees. "I reckon. Wonder if the sun wishes it could take the last two months away for all of us?"

"Well, whether it does 'r not, pard, it's back t' work. Doin' its job, what it was meant t' be doin'."

Chris was silent, rolling Vin's words around in his mind. Doing the job. Was Vin saying what he thought those words meant? Weren't they all saying that in one way or another? Chris Larabee needed to stop wallowing in the past and the guilt at what had happened. He needed to get on with life... to start doing his job again.

The only trouble with that was, he wasn't certain what that job was any more; wasn't certain he could get past what had happened. It had taken a long time to get beyond the loss of his family and feel human again. Then life had kicked him in the teeth with the knowledge of why his wife and child had died. His efforts to right that wrong had resulted in yet another nightmare, and cost more lives. Larabee stared off into the distance, wondering just when his life had become such a hot commodity. Why was his continued existence worth all the death and destruction that littered the trail of his past?

"Chris?"

The blond looked up into the other man's face. There was something there, something in that look, and he gasped to realize what it was. A pure, simple look of friendship and brotherhood, given to him freely and openly by his friend. Larabee realized then that despite the bleakness that tainted his view of the good things in his past, there was a much clearer view of hope for his future. It was frankly and clearly offered to him in a pair of smiling blue eyes.

Shaking himself from his reverie, the gunman said, "yeah?"

"Think I might bother y' for another drink? Wouldn't mind somethin' a bit stronger than water." The younger man grinned.

Laughing, the man in black pulled himself up off the bucket and strode into the little house. Returning he set a pair of glasses and an unopened bottle on the table. Pouring a healthy portion of whiskey into each glass, he handed one to the long-haired man. Then he tapped his glass to the one in Tanner's grasp. Although their toast had no words, the two men nodded to one another, knowing exactly what that toast was. Friendship.

If he could trust his fading memory, he had been back in the cage for three days. And throughout most of that time, his companion hadn't moved. He tried his best to coax the young woman, battered both physically and emotionally, to at least take some water. She simply lay there, staring through the wooden bars into the poor fields beyond.

For some time now, there was a growing stench that came to them on the breeze. It was one that he easily recognized and, being among the 'hiders for most of her life, he knew that Darry did as well. It was the stink of death. He knew that a part of it might be the horse, but the sound of predators had filled the air sometime ago and no doubt the poor creature was little more than bones by now.

There was another body, however, kept from most scavengers by the fact that it was suspended in the air. No, he was very afraid that the stench came from the woman's son. He had not seen any of the men since they had returned; it seemed probable that Ella had ordered them to stay at the big house. That left the ancient hag that the others called 'Ma', the simple young Hessie, and the little boy, Willie Joe. It looked as if they were just going to let the young man rot there in the tree.

Vin felt his stomach lurch at the thought of it; if he had anything in his stomach, he would have lost it. If Darry had come to the same conclusion... he wasn't even certain that he could put that pain into words. How could a parent manage to survive being helpless to even give their child a decent burial?

The young man's faded blue eyes looked up to see the frightened young woman, Hessie, scuttling toward them, two plates and a canteen in hand. The tracker pulled himself up with a groan, waiting for the woman to reach the other side of the little prison. He could stand and move about a little, but his body ached from the long captivity and harsh abuse. As she stooped to push the plates beneath the door, following them with the canteen, he said softly, "thank y' Miss Hessie."

She didn't acknowledge him, simply backed away. The timid woman-child chanced a quick look at the other prisoner. Her eyes shone with tears, but then she seemed to clamp down on her thoughts, and a hardness settled on her face.

"Miss Hessie, Darry's awful sick. I'm afraid she might die if y'all don't let 'r outta here."

Shaking her head vigorously, she replied "she got whut she d'zerved. She ought'n't t' go 'ginst Ma's word. Cause a her, that fancy lady's took th' menfolk up t' her place, perm'nent. Me, Ma and Willie's here 'lone now."

"Is that why no one's buried Daniel?" Vin asked quietly.

The woman's face paled, a single cry escaping at the mention of the dead boy. She started away, but Tanner called her back, saying, "Tell yer ma I'll set 'm in th' ground if she's a mind t' let me. Cain't say I c'n bide a body not laid t' rest."

"Hiram said we's not t' let'cha out less one a them's around. He says y'all ain't t' be trusted."

"Miss Hessie, I'll give y' m' solemn oath not t' do nothin' but put Daniel in th' ground."

"Y'all cain't be trusted," the young woman repeated as she turned and scurried back toward the house.

"Miss Hessie!" Vin called out hoarsely once again. He slumped back to the ground with a sigh.

"Thank you," a faint whisper came from the listless young woman on the other side of the little cell.

Tanner looked to see Wade staring up at him. He had never seen such lifelessness in a body that still breathed. He hoped to never see it again. Gathering himself, he nodded and said, "least I c'n do."

The tracker picked up the plates and, as always, sat one beside the young woman. She retreated to wherever she had gone since that awful night, no longer acknowledging the man or the pathetic meal. The peacekeeper shook his head when he realized she wasn't eating again. With a helpless sigh, he slowly ate his own meager portion, his eyes never leaving the grief stricken woman.

"Darry, I wish y'd eat," he said softly. When she failed to respond again, he considered his options. Finally, he mopped up the last bit of watery broth in his plate and set it aside. Sliding across the ground between them, he reached out and touched the battered woman's shoulder. Her eyes opened slowly, and she stared up at him blankly.

"Miss, y' know, there's things in m' life I ain't proud a doin', but there ain't a way 'n hell I c'n set here 'n watch y' die without doin' somethin'."

"Leave me be Vin, please."

"No, don't reckon I c'n do that." That said, he lifted her head up, resting it against his leg. Wiping his hand on the overalls they had left him in, he scraped up some of the unidentifiable food and pressed it to her lips. At first it was a struggle, the young woman refusing to open her mouth. Vin Tanner was nothing if not a patient man, however, he simply held her and continued to offer the food. Finally she surrendered, and he managed to get at least some of the food into her. This time, when she turned away, he let her, satisfied that she had done her best. The starving man indulged himself, swallowing the bite on his fingers.

Darry didn't struggle as much when he put the canteen to her lips. "Reckon it does cut th' taste a th' food," he joked. Then he sighed when he realized she had once more retreated from the world.

The singular reality of the black crack had not wavered. No matter what shadows and illusions tried to intrude upon his fragile world, he simply ignored them until they left him in peace. From time to time, he felt her there, her hands on his body. It no longer mattered to him what she did to him. It didn't matter that she was there at all. Even when she began to yell at him, he simply lay there, focused on the crack.

"Damn it, Chris! How can you just lay there, ignoring me? After all I've done for you, you treat me so horribly!" The mad woman railed for several moments, unheeding of the fact that he neither moved nor answered her rantings. "You had better get over this foolish snit soon, if you plan to continue living such a comfortable life. You can always return to the less affluent accommodations that we were forced to utilize before."

Her voiced softened then, as she continued. "Is that what you want, my love? Do you want to return to the darkness once again? I can have the men remove you to the cellar for another stay. Then we shall see how long it takes before you come to your senses. Is that what you want?"

Her hands stroked down his belly tauntingly. She smiled as she moved lower on his exposed body. She had left him nude since returning to the house, deciding he would be less likely to try anything again without his clothes. Her disturbed mind saw nothing of his catatonia, never registered the vacant stare in the hazel eyes. "You can make it all up to me, however, my love." Her hand moved even lower, her dark eyes glowing with lust. Ella's tongue appeared, rimming her lips. She trembled as she watched his body react to her touch. Yes, she was well-versed in making men do as she wished.

He stared upward, his focus as always on the long black crack. He felt his body tense as it was touched, but felt neither enjoyment nor pleasure. Then, in the reality of the blackness, he saw flames. Contained within the flames, he saw a face, framed with thick auburn curls. Beside that was another, thick dark hair and eyes like his own. Both faces were filled with terror, both mouths opened to scream. Even though he heard nothing over the sound of the flames, he knew they were both calling to him. Then they faded from view, and all was silence.

She cried out softly... angrily... as she realized that he was no longer aroused. Re-fastening her clothing with trembling fingers, she shed frustrated tears. Then she drew back one well-manicured hand and slapped him across the face. That was followed by a second and then a third strike. Shaking with rage, she stumbled away and ran from the room.

Left behind, his focus never wavered from the crack.

"A mite stingy on yer portions, ain't y'?" Vin looked up from the plate before him.

"There's plenty more in there, but you ain't had much in the way of solid food for a while. Figured I'd see how you handled this much first." Chris smiled as he forked a healthy portion of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

Tanner followed suit, smiling at the taste of real food. They had spent the afternoon on the porch, Chris easily convinced to bring dinner out there as well. He wasn't certain how many times he had succumbed to his body's continued weariness during those hours. The fragile man had awakened with a start a few times, though. And every time he did, the blond was there, hands steadying him in the chair and soft voice reassuring him that he was safe. Vin sighed, the sun was closing in n the Western horizon now, yet another day at an end.

They finished the meal, listening to the night creatures tuning up to begin their symphony. The blond couldn't help but grin when the other man dropped his fork into his plate and leaned back with a contented sigh.

"Doing okay there, Pard?"

"Shove me in a cook stove, I'm stuffed," Vin grinned drunkenly.

Chris chuckled. "Take it you're too full for dessert then?"

Vin gawked openly at the other man. "You forget who y's talkin' to?"

Larabee laughed out loud now, rose from his seat, and quickly returned with pie for them both. He had to nudge the tracker, rousting him from a light sleep.

Tanner managed to eat nearly half the dessert before his body began to protest. He leaned back in the chair, one hand holding his tautly stretched stomach, the other wiping his tight-lipped mouth.

Chris was quickly at his side, smiling sympathetically. "Yep, think you over did it. You gonna be sick?"

Vin took several deep breaths before he risked opening his mouth. "Ain't wastin' all that good food."

The blond chuckled, "all right then, let's get you in to bed."

Tanner sighed, but didn't argue. He let Chris pull him to his feet and steady him as a second wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. finally, he lifted his head from where it rested on the black-clad shoulder. With his best friend at his side, the tired young man walked slowly into the house and dropped wearily to the bed.

"Ain't right," the sharpshooter muttered.

"What ain't right?" Larabee asked as he pulled his friend's boots off.

"This is yer place. I ought'n't t' be takin' yer bed."

The blond smiled. "You're not taking it. I offered it."

"Still ain't right."

"Don't see much of a choice in the matter, I've only got one bed."

"That's th' point. I c'n sleep in m' bedroll just fine."

"Not likely. You ain't got any padding yourself right now, you need something under you to keep your bones from rubbing through the skin." Larabee winked.

"Yeah, but yer older'n me. Hate t' have t' pick y' up off th' floor when y' get all stove up on th' floor."

While they talked, the two men had acted in concert to get Tanner stripped down to his long johns. Chris coaxed him up enough to pull the blankets back, then settled him in the narrow bed. As Tanner delivered his last comment, Chris shot him a glare that was tinged with humor. "Damn smart ass."

He retrieved a mug of Nathan's tea and handed it to the younger man. Sitting on the edge of the mattress so that Vin understood quickly that he was going to make certain that he drank the bitter drink. "You take the bed tonight, we'll talk about sleeping arrangements more tomorrow."

Finishing the drink, Tanner handed the mug to his friend and slid farther down in the bed. He was still feeling queasy, and he doubted the healer's brewed skunk water would help any. To his surprise though, he soon found his eyelids growing heavy.

Chris settled at the foot of the bed, watching as Vin drifted toward sleep. The finely chiseled features relaxed, losing hold of the pain and worry that hounded him while he was awake. When he was finally satisfied that the worn young man was finally deep in the embrace of sleep, he rose carefully from the bed. He tucked the rough blanket around the thin shoulders, absently brushing a curl from the pale face. "Sleep tight, pard," he whispered softly.

As another day dawned, this one gray and blowing the threat of rain in the hard wind, Vin saw movement at the side of the house. Willie Joe, the little boy who had never been a child, appeared for the first time in days. He made his way to the cage, holding the gunbelt around his waist in place with one hand. In the other he held something tightly, unseen until he reached the prison door. It was the key. Managing to pull the old Colt from its holster, he held it on the exhausted man while he unlocked the door. Pulling the wire-bound door open, he motioned Vin out. "Ma sez t' take y' round front, have y' cut down whut's left a Dummy 'n bury 'm. Sez I'm t' shoot y' if y' so much 's look like y' wanna git away. I c'n do 't, too, so don't be gittin' no foolish ideas."

Vin managed to pull himself out of the little cage and struggled to stand. He grasped the door, yelping as the barbed wire cut into his palm. He maintained his hold, though, using the roughhewn door to steady himself. He stole a look back at Darry. She didn't seem to be aware of what was going on. Tanner considered coaxing her out as well, but decided not to. It had been far too long since her son had bee hung. That was a sight no mother should have to endure. Better to leave her inside the pickets.

Orienting himself to moving more than a step or two for the first time in days, Vin managed to shuffle through the yard ahead of the little guard. Thought of making an escape was fleeting. His muddled mind sorted through things, realizing that he should have coaxed Darry out after all. Even as weak as they both were, they could have easily gotten away from the child. The chance was lost now, though, he wouldn't leave without her. He also knew that, as drained as he was, he wouldn't have to worry about Willie Joe shooting him. He'd drop dead inside a mile.

Several times he stumbled, falling to his knees. He wondered how he was going to manage to take care of this task, but he was damned if he wouldn't try to carry it out. He had not lied to Hessie, he found it nearly impossible to deal with the thought of Darry's son hanging from that tree, no one caring enough for the poor, simple-minded boy to bury him.

The sun was in a noticeably different place in the sky by the time Vin and Willie Joe made it around the house. He looked up then, seeing what he had expected, but prayed not to find. The young man's body dangled from the tree, blackened and swollen in death. The rope had slowly torn into his flesh until, now, it was supported by little more than the spine. His tongue protruded grotesquely past his teeth and lips, eyes sunken back in the swollen face. His limbs were distended, nearly ripping through the ragged cloth of his shirt and pants.

Gagging at the sight, Vin found himself on his knees once again. He had nothing to dispose of, dry heaves ripping through his already pain-wracked body. It was several long moments before he could gather the strength to gain his feet again. Slowly he shuffled toward the tree once more.

A stool had already been dragged into place, a knife laying on it. Picking up the knife by it's battered handle, the sharpshooter held onto it as he slowly pulled himself up onto the stool. What was once something so simple that he would have done it without thought, he had to focus on each movement. His body protested as he balanced and lifted each leg upward, setting each foot on the rough wooden platform. Once atop the stool, he leaned heavily against the tree, nearly crying with exhaustion.

Vin had no idea how long it took for him to pull himself together, but finally he lifted the knife and began sawing at the rope. Even though he could easily see the frayed hemp was well past its prime, it felt like tempered steel to his weakened muscles. But, finally, he managed to cut through it. He could do nothing more than turn away as the decomposing body fell the several feet to the ground. The knife slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground as well. Barely managing to keep his balance, he climbed down, dropping to the stool with a groan.

Yet more time passed before he lifted his head, staring at first the dead body and then at his tiny captor. Willie Joe stared back at him, for a brief instant a frightened little boy. Then he recovered, glaring at the struggling man.

"Best git on with 't," he ordered. "I done got a hole fer 'm, over yonder."

Tanner turned, seeing the pitifully shallow grave nearby. He knew he should make it deeper to keep the animals from digging up the corpse. He also knew he'd never be able to add another six inches to the depth before collapsing. It would have to do.

Hessie came from the house then, one hand over her mouth and nose to block the smell of death, and a blanket in the other. She handed it to Vin, then hurried back into the house. The Texan slowly pulled the dead body toward the hole, having to stop several times to regain his strength. There was a damp trail behind them, the essence of which he refused to dwell on. When he managed to get Daniel to the hole, he dropped to his knees. Wrapping the bloated corpse in the blanket as snuggly as possible, he rolled the body into the hole. Tucking the blanket in around the young man, he sat back on his heels.

"Y'ain't gonna be able t' cover 'm yerself, not in th' shape yer in," Willie Joe remarked. "Reckon I best git'cha back in th' cage, so's I c'n do 't m'self."

Vin looked up, amazed at how calmly the child discussed the burial. "Y' sure?"

Nodding, his captor said, "I c'n do 't."

The trip back to the cell took almost twice as long as the trip out. By the end, Tanner could no longer get to his feet. He crawled along, too exhausted to feel embarrassed by his mode of travel. As they reached the cage, Hessie came out, bringing their daily portion of food. The sharpshooter collapsed inside the wooden bars, consciousness a fleeting thing.

The plates and canteen were left, Hessie and Willie Joe disappearing back around the house. Inside the little cage, there was no movement for several minutes. Then, finally, one battered body began to move, crawling across to the other.

Darry pulled both plates toward her, smiling slightly when she saw one contained a couple of actual pieces of meat. She supposed it was a thank you for Vin nearly killing himself to do the decent thing. The young woman had heard Willie talking earlier, uncertain at the time as to whether or not she was dreaming. Seeing the abused man return exhausted to the point of crawling, she realized that it has not been a dream.

Dumping both portions in on plate, she repaid yet another favor. Settling the semi-conscious man on her lap, she began feeding him. At first he nearly choked, so tired he could barely swallow. Changing tactics and giving him a long, healthy drink of water from the canteen, she offered him the food at a more leisurely pace. He finally woke enough to chew one of the pieces of meat, but argued until she finally ate the other. Between them, they drained the canteen, Wade making certain that he had the larger quantity.

Their miserable meal finished, Darry managed to coax a little more water from the canteen onto a strip of her shirt. She used it to wipe the perspiration and dirt coated face, smiling when he sighed at her touch. Blue eyes fluttered open, staring tiredly up at her. Softly she said, "thank you, Vin."

While Chris Larabee had lost all sense of time, a week had passed for the rest of the world. His care had become the focus of the household as, while his mind had retreated, his body continued to have needs. Bedding was changed as necessary, his body bathed and the makeshift wrappings removed and replaced with others. The swelling had slowly gone down, the bruises still heavy along his leg. They alternated between heated blankets and icy sheets from the compounds own ice house.

Although she frequently visited, entreating him in her deranged way to love her, Ella had no more luck in getting through to her former lover. Coy banter was interspersed with red-faced rages when he made no response. Time and again she threatened to have him removed to the cellar, but nothing ever came of it. Instead, she would drift away, her mind returning to that time when she had everything she wanted. She would ramble on about those long ago times of late night drinking binges and his fighting for her honor.

But then she began to brag about her part in the death of Sarah and Adam Larabee.

"You know, Cletus tells me that it was quite easy to kill them. The men he hired kept watch on the windows, firing if they saw any movement at all. He says he rather enjoyed watching that quaint little house of yours burn, listening to that sow and her little bastard screaming for help."

He blinked.

"He tells me that it was easy to disguise the real reason he killed them, too. All he had to do was make it sound as if he was after you and that their deaths weren't planned. All he had to do was use the term 'he' and there was no way you would ever think of your darling Ella. Fowler did it to protect me, isn't that noble? It was as easy to make him love me as it was to charm any of the others."

The reality of the black crack faded, the hated voice becoming clearer.

"Not that I was worried about you discovering my little secret. I love you, darling, but I knew you'd never figure it out. Like all men, you have always been easily manipulated. You'd never have suspected your darling Ella in such a vile deed. If that long-haired cretin hadn't planted a seed of doubt in your mind, we would never have had to endure that long separation. We could be raising horses... even beginning that tribe of mewling brats you seemed to want. But thanks to Tanner, everything was set back." She fairly growled the last.

Blue eyes blazed into his soul, pleading with him.

"Now, I realize that there's some reluctance on your part to give up your misplaced loyalties. You seem intent on making me the villanness of this piece, although I cannot fathom the reason for it. What is it that turned you from loving me my dearest?"

A raspy voice called out to him. He answered it with a promise of freedom.

"Never mind," she continued with a sigh when she saw he wasn't going to respond. "I forgive you, love, whatever your reasons. I'm certain you never meant to hurt me. Let's just put it all behind us and go forward from today."

"You bitch," his voice was hoarse, raspy, and little more than a whisper.

Gaines jumped as his words forced themselves into her unhinged mind. "Chris! How dare you call me such a malicious name!"

"It's the truth," he winced as the handful of words caused his throat to ache.

"NO!" She screamed, her nails raking across his face as she battered him once more.

Larabee closed his eyes, turning his face away from the attack. He put one arm up, but otherwise simply allowed the blows to fall. After several minutes he realized that she was no longer assaulting him.

Running a rough hand over his face, the blond blinked rapidly as reality adjusted itself. Finding himself back in the room that had been his prison for far too long already, he groaned. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the long hours of disuse sending tremors of weakness through his muscles. Assessing the damage to his leg, he tried moving it. The battered limb felt heavy and nearly useless, it would be some time before it was able to support his weight again.

Falling back to the pillows, the blond ground the heels of his hands against his eyelids. He had no idea how long he had been Ella's prisoner again. He had a vague sense that it was days since he had been forced to relinquish his friend and return to her house. Days since her men had attacked Darry and hanged her son. Days since they shot the horse out from under them. Returning to the world brought with it a flood of images, and many of those images brought with them questions.

Was Vin alive?

Was Darry?

Would he ever be able to escape a second time?

How long would it be before the other five men considered them lost?

Would they come looking, even though he had made it clear that he wouldn't return before Ella Gaines was dead?

Was there a reason to even consider returning from the peace and stability of the nothingness?

A sound filled the room, more like that of a wounded animal than of a human being. Chris slowly realized that it was him. Tears filled his eyes, and he let them spill down his face. His mind filled with a thousand images, all of them dark. With each new thought another torrent of tears burned along his flesh, soaking the plush pillow beneath his head. The emotions welled, the pain ripping through his already tortured mind. He cried out again and again, until the room was filled with the plaintive sounds that echoed off the walls and filled the air.

A month had come and gone since Chris and Vin left to hunt down Ella Gaines. The other five peacekeepers had made a variety of arrests, for everything from creating a nuisance to attempted murder. JD's keen eye had spotted a man wanted for bank robbery in San Francisco and, with the others, had successfully arrested him. the men played host to the prisoner until the Marshals had come to transport him back to California.

Nathan had spent several days at the reservation when some of the children had taken ill, depleting the towns' law enforcement team even more. Ezra was only on the job when he couldn't find a poker came, Buck frequently took his leave in the company of one or two of the girls from Virginia's, and Josiah found more and more to do at the church. While they were quick to come through when needed, the young sheriff found himself alone a lot of the time. The more mundane duties - care and feeding of prisoners being the most prominent - fell on the young man's shoulders much of the time.

JD sighed, his chair tipped back against the wall outside the jail. He watched comings and goings along the boardwalk with only marginal interest. His mind was where it seemed to be so often lately, on the past. Not the distant past, but that of a few months ago. he found it difficult not to wish for the days when they were seven. It seemed as if the heart had gone out of the group with the absence of Larabee and Tanner. Dunne had not felt so lost since Walter Bryce had come to town, scattering the peacekeepers to the winds of fate in his wake. If the two men failed to return to Four Corners, he knew it would be the end of something he held very dear.

"JD?"

The young man looked up to see Mary Travis staring down at him. with a start, he leapt to his feet, removing his bowler respectfully. "Howdy, Mary. Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Didn't hear me, either I guess," the pretty young widow teased. "I had to call your name twice."

"Sorry," he said again.

Frowning, the blonde said, "would you like to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever has you lost in a fog."

He looked down, studying his boots as he struggled with his thoughts. "Oh, it wasn't anything really. I was just... I... well."

Placing a hand on the Easterner's arm, the newspaper woman said, "calm down. There's no need to be so flustered. I can imagine what you were thinking about, anyway."

"You can?"

With a sympathetic nod, Mary said, "you're wondering where Chris and Vin are, and worried about how things are going since they left."

Letting his pent-up breath out with a long sigh, the young peacekeeper said, "yes ma'am, you're exactly right."

The widow Travis settled into one of the chairs, motioning Dunne to reclaim his own seat. "I'm worried as well, I really am. Nothing has been the same since they left. Well," she sighed, "really since that woman came to town."

The young man nodded, looking away when he saw the hurt in the crystal green eyes. None of them knew for certain what had happened, but the woman's relationship with Chris Larabee had changed after they returned from the Gaines ranch. A few of the townsfolk claimed that they had heard the two in a heated argument while Larabee was still laid up from his wounds. The rest of them didn't pay much attention to what they considered to be gossip at first. Then they had seen the change. While the gunman and the newspaper editor were cordial around one another, there was a coolness to their interactions.

While all that flew through the young man's mind, he said only, "yeah, you're right. I wish I knew what to do about it."

Shaking her head, Travis said, "I'm not certain there is anything to do. Not right now at any rate. I think the others are feeling their way around the change."

"I reckon, but it just seems like they're all angry most of the time... mad at each other for the stupidest things."

Nodding, Mary said, "the chain of command is broken." When the brunet just looked at her with a puzzled expression, she explained, "Chris has been in charge from the first day, whether he was aware of it or not, and Vin has always been at his side, even when they weren't in agreement. Now they're out there, searching for that woman, and no one is willing toe either step into their place or follow the other men."

Seeing that the young man was sorting through her words, Mary patted him on the shoulder and stood to leave. "I'll see you later."

Dunne nodded distractedly, his mind still turning over the woman's words. He didn't even realize for several minutes that she had gone.

Nathan Jackson rode toward the little shack, watching for signs of life. The sun had cleared the horizon an hour ago, just after he left town, and he expected to at least see the blond up and about. Truth be told, he half expected to see the Texan at least sitting on the porch. No one reacted to his approach until he came abreast of the corral.

"Morning," Larabee called from the door as he swung it open. He held his Colt loosely in one hand.

"Mornin'," Jackson answered as he loosened the saddle on Able's broad back and sent the horse into the corral. "How's Vin doin'?"

"Pretty good," Chris said as he came to stand next to the bigger man. "Been sleeping a lot, ate good and kept it down. Caught him heading for the privy on his own in the middle of the night. Wasn't too happy for the company."

"How'd he do on walkin' that far?"

"Made it there and about half way back." The blond didn't elaborate on the fact that Vin had stumbled, nearly falling on his face in the grass. Chris had managed to catch him, and nearly carried him back to bed. By the time they got to the shack, Vin was out on his feet. He doubted that the exhausted man even knew when his head hit the pillow.

"You give him the teas like I told y'?"

Nodding, the gunman said, "he drank every drop."

A broad smile spreading across his dark features, Nathan said, "he complain much?"

Rolling his eyes, the blond said, "what do you think?"

A deep laugh his only answer, Jackson picked up his bag and headed toward the little shack. Stepping inside the room, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. When they did, he found that the sharpshooter was looking up at him from the bed.

"Well, good morning," the former slave greeted the young man.

"Mornin'," came the yawned reply.

"How you feelin' today?"

"Hell, ain't hardly been awake long 'nuff t' tell."

Nodding, Nathan came over and settled on the edge of the bed. Tanner sighed as he began checking him over. The healer assessed the wounds they had opened, and his health in general.

"Chris said you ate pretty well, and you've been drinking your medicine like you're supposed to."

"Yes, sir," the blue eyes twinkled with humor.

"Any pain... even any you don't think's worth mentioning?"

"Other than th' ones in m' neck pesterin' me t' drink skunk juice 'n follwing me to th' privy?"

"Watch your mouth," came a voice from the porch, "or I'll leave your skinny ass out there tonight."

Jackson said nothing, but inwardly he sighed with relief. The exchange brought with it a sense of normalcy that had been missing from their little band for far too long. He found himself with hope that things would be all right after all. To the others he said only, "well, looks like you're doing okay so far. Don't get any ideas that you can slack off, though."

"Yes, sir," two voices answered him in unison.

Chuckling, the big man said, "y'all need anything from town? I'll bring it out with me tomorrow, or send one a th' others out later today."

"Yeah, actually there is," Chris said, "think someone could round up a cot for me?"

"Told y'," Tanner crowed. "Yer gettin' too damn old t' lay on th' floor!"

Glaring at the grinning man, the gunman refused to answer.

"Yeah, I'll see if Buck or JD can ring one out," Jackson said with a wink.

"Mite wanna see 'bout a rockin' chair, too," Vin continued to tease.

"Nathan, you sure you don't want me to double up on his medicine?" Larabee arched an eyebrow at the man in the bed.

Throwing up his hands in surrender, the ex-slave said, "can't hurt 'm, but I ain't sayin' he needs it."

As Jackson started out the door, the peacekeepers leader said, "you're welcome to stay for breakfast."

"Thanks for the offer," Nathan said over his shoulder, "but Mrs. Cooper's ready to deliver. Best get back to town and check on her."

Leaving the little homestead a few minutes later, Jackson felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. There was every indication that they would soon be seven once again. The bleak days might very well be behind them, for the time being at least.

Vin looked up, watching the storm clouds blowing above the little prison. The sky had been threatening rain most of the day, and it looked as if it would deliver on that threat soon. He still felt so exhausted that he had barely moved since the day before. There had been a brief storm during the night that left Darry huddling beside him. She had pulled off her tattered shirt, using it to keep at least some of the rain out of their faces. He had wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as they shared their meager body heat throughout the long night hours.

The morning was gray, the sunrise barely noticeable. They had lingered together long after the rain had stopped, drawing something more than warmth from one another. Darry lay with her head tucked beneath Vin's chin, her face resting against his chest. He kept his arm around her, holding her comfortably against him. Neither of them said anything, neither asked the other for anything more than what they received.

Finally they moved apart, each returning to the opposite sides of the cage. They lay much as they had since being imprisoned, thoughts going back to the bleakness that had held them captive for just as long. The hours dragged by, the grayness of the world around them reflecting the darkness of their worlds.

Toward the end of the day Hessie came out as usual, carrying their plates and a canteen. Then they saw Willie Joe marching behind her, a tattered canvas in his arms. Vin thought he recognized it as the one that had hidden him during their trip to the house, but couldn't be certain. He watched bleakly as they reached the cage, the young woman passing the things through the door. Once she did, she took the old tarp from her son and struggled to spread it over the top of their prison.

"Thank you Miss Hessie," Vin said, a note of surprise in his voice. He waited with only a little hope, but she didn't acknowledge his words. When she and the little boy had finally covered the rough woven wire top, they marched back toward the house just as the first fat drops of rain came down.

Chris watched the rain splatter against the window near his bed. His heart ached as he thought of Vin out there, in that loathsome cage. If he was still alive. Since coming back from the darkness, the blond had asked every one of Ella's lackeys when they entered the room. They had ignored his requests, demands and finally screamed threats. None of them even seemed to realize he was even alive.

He pushed himself up on the bed, grimacing as his injured leg complained at the movement. Although they had applied heat and cold to reduce the swelling and some of the stiffness, they had done nothing more for him. The limb was all but useless, unable to support his weight for more than a second. Larabee pushed himself to work the leg though, forcing it to bend, move and take some of his weight. Lifting the mottled limb from the mattress, he lowered it over the side and eased his foot to the floor. Biting back a groan, he steadied himself with the bedpost and stood.

Hobbling painfully the few steps to the window, he braced himself and took most of the weight on his other leg. He watched the raindrops gather in force, pelting down from the sky like minions of hell. Heedless of the fact that he was completely nude, he stood at the window throughout most of the evening storm. Finally he heard the door open, and footsteps crossing the floor.

"Well, it's good to see you out of bed, darling," Ella cooed as she wrapped her arms around him. "You really shouldn't stand there in full view with nothing on, though."

"I don't give a damn," Larabee growled, pushing the demented woman away. "What the hell do you want?"

She grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away from the window. Her actions caused him to lose his precarious balance, and the nude man tumbled to the floor. He looked up at her, stark hatred in his eyes.

Ella stumbled back, her hand going to her mouth at that look. Recovering, the deranged woman said, "what I want is for you to stop this male posturing. What I want is for you to understand that you are not in charge any longer. What I want is for you to understand that I am. That is what I want."

Struggling to pull himself up, Chris gained his feet and grabbed her harshly. "Then lady, you've got a long wait, because I will never give in. You may think you have me, but all you have is my body here in this room. You killed any chance at having me three years ago when you murdered my family!"

"You're wrong!" She struggled to pull away from him, but the man held her firm. She continued to scream, suddenly feeling the lack of control over the situation. "You're wrong! I have you... here... now! We have always belonged together, I have fought far to long and far too hard for you to destroy that with your petty complaints!"

He slapped her hard across the face, feeling some faint pleasure as he watched blood well up on her lip. "Petty complaints? PETTY COMPLAINTS?! You god-damned bitch, you murdered my family!"

Glaring at him, she sucked at the split lip, unable to free her hands to wipe away the blood. She continued angrily, saying, "I have put everything into bringing us and keeping us together and all you have done is fight me. When will you give up your misguided notion that you know what is best?"

With a growl he pushed her away, smiling coldly as she landed against the bedpost and crumpled to the ground stunned. Trembling with rage, he hobbled back to the bed, collapsing on the mattress as the physical and mental exertion suddenly left him drained to do anything more than slump against the headboard, panting heavily.

Ella managed to pull herself back to her feet. She seemed disoriented, not even looking toward the trembling blond. Instead, she staggered from the room, calling to her hired men as she did.

Chris was only faintly surprised when two of the men came in a few minutes later. One of them handed him a set of clothes and ordered shortly, "put 'm on."

He struggled to pull the pants on over his injured leg, but finally managed to dress in the old work clothes he was given. Larabee smiled grimly, knowing that the state of the clothes was an indication that he had fallen out of favor with the insane Queen Bee. The men yanked him forcefully to his feet, uncaring that one buckled beneath him. The gunman was half-dragged roughly from the room, struggling to stand, but not given the chance. He expected to find himself taken back to the cellar, and was surprised when they moved up the stairs to the highest floor of the big house instead.

The pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, the narrow passageway forcing them to go single file now. Chris balanced himself against the walls at either side, biting back the pain as his battered and unused leg was forced to maneuver the steep staircase. The man behind him prodded him time and again to pick up the pace, but he refused to be hurried. He had suffered the loss of enough dignity, he wasn't going to crawl before these men.

Finally reaching the top of the stairway, he stumbled into a long, dim room. His guards pushed the limping gunman deeper into the darkened space, then hurriedly left. Chris heard the distinctive sound of the door below being locked. Glancing around him he surveyed the room.

Lamps were spaced along the walls, each burning softly to offset the darkness. There were two small windows, one at each end of the expansive attic. They were covered with oiled paper and left to cast only a faint light into the room. Next, he noticed unframed picture canvases hung along the slanted walls and propped up along the floor. Hobbling along the creaking wooden floor, he let curiosity take him to the nearest painting.

It was Ella Gaines, painted in an idealistic, romantic light. He stared at the woman in a flower pastel gown, her dark hair flowing down her back, a bright smile lighting up her pale features and dark eyes. She was lounging back on a thick velvet couch, one delicate hand dangling over the high back, the other clutching a single pink rose to her chest. Chris stared at the fiction before him, wondering who the deranged woman had mesmerized to create such a twisted lie.

The captive limped slowly along, staring at canvas after canvas, each with the same, idealistic version of Gaines as the focus. By the fifth canvas Larabee was seething, enraged that she continued to exude such a maliciously misleading persona with such abandon. That so many people believed it seemed incredible to the blond, even though he was at the head of that list for so long.

When Larabee reached the sixth canvas, the world spun out of control and he cried out in shear, searing agony.

Ella stood in the middle of the canvas, her hands clasped before her to hold a bouquet of pale roses. She was dressed in a gown of purest white that he quickly recognized as a wedding dress. Her dark hair was swept up on top of her head, bedecked in tiny, fragile looking blooms. But it was the background that tore a hole in the man's soul. Behind her were flames, horrendous in their static violence. They were consuming a house.

His house.

His home.

Both fists tore through the painted canvas, ripping the vile image to shreds. As he destroyed the picture he screamed, filling the attic with the most virulent epitaphs his mind could conjure. Each one was aimed at the vicious woman who had so blithely destroyed his world.

Finally, the painting nothing more than a jumble of wood and cloth at his feet, Chris fell limply to the floor. He lay among the shreds, panting heavily, his head, heart and leg all pounding in a painful rhythm.

"I take it that you were impressed with my work," came a raspy, slightly slurred and oddly familiar voice from the shadows.

Larabee pulled himself to his elbows, blinking the sweat from his eyes as he peered into the darkness. He saw a vague shadow, oddly hunched to one side as the figure moved toward him with a crippled gait. He frowned as he tried to make out who was sharing his new prison with him. "Who's there?"

"Why Mr. Larabee, don't tell me I've been forgotten."

Shock drained the color from the blond's face as the speaker entered the dim light. It took several minutes before he could form a single word. "Fowler?"

Part 6

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6 Part6