Chapter 1: The Train

"Please! Just a little, just to tide me over—-"

 

I wake up to the sounds of the new frontier.  It's different from the city I was coming from.  I was traveling West. To the unknown. Native Americans, gold prospectors, gamblers, cattle ranchers, miners and immigrants scrambled to extend the new frontier.

 

I try to ignore the sounds of the locomotive train as it strifes through stationary mountains. It was all hypnotic, even the desert outside.  The man whose talking has a sharp, husky voice seasoned with profanities that interrupt whatever mild sedative Mrs. Jacqueline from the Free Jones Editorial had given me just two hours earlier.   I'd never heard cursing sound so much like deep dark chocolate. Perhaps its curiosity that wakes me up wondering who was the man attached to the voice.  

 

It would be a long trip. I'd need to get my rest one way or another.

 

"Clay Hardin-----Be logical - God!"  he goes on, "Why are you doing this to me? Do you hate me so much?"

 

Christ. The engine sat on the tracks, humming to itself, for a long time. I'd spent more money than I should have as I struggle to figure the time. A watch was another of those things I didn't have, but it was long enough for the sun to get behind a ridge of furrowed hills a couple miles west of the train. The desert, which had been all rust and mustard before, went suddenly purple. The warmth of the day was instantly gone. Some kind of demented dog started howling somewhere nearby.

 

Instantly irritated I make it to the door, "Do ya mind? Some of us out here are tryin' a sleep."

 

This was the tallest human being I'd had ever seen, and the most beautiful, and the most frightening.

 

"Whatcha going to to do about it, partner?" he asks, "Because that tone there sounds like a man who has a score to settle."



I look down.  A gun. The slow-talkin gunman was wearing two pistols in low hip holsters.  His fingers tickle a bit ready to draw if needed... 

By now I might as well have pissed myself.

 

"Leave him alone," the pigface boy perhaps saves my life from the attractive one, "Look at him.  He's all lost in the face, Kid. Killin' him would be no worse than shootin' a dog."

 

 

I swallow my spit.  The truth was that the Native gunman was something rather...pleasing.  He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His long velvety hair was done very nicely, he had some form of oil mixed in to give a short but noticeable wavy form to the black strands. His forehead was almost square, large and imposing, but not laughably so. A few lines were laid upon it, but they were dismissive as tricks of light. His eyebrows were impossibly straight, his eyes made of rich mahogany. Eyes that told of many secrets but held them locked in a strongbox so beautiful that you wouldn't dare to open in fear of what you might find within. The most striking feature was his finely manicured goatee. It highlighted the frown placed upon his mouth and somehow made him seem more authoritative than his aura already suggested. If one ventured close enough, his mahogany eyes would hungrily envelop yours and pull your feet towards him. It was nothing he did precisely, it just looked as if he had a secret you would enjoy hearing about.

 

I keep looking at the outlaw and say, "You're beautiful."




"What a weird thing to say," the pigboy chimes in.

 

"What's weird about it?" The attractive native asks the pigboy, "At least someone finds me fetching."




"You're a LOT fetching  Kid," the pigboy states, "But I give very little dams.  Cash is cash..."

 

I'd interrupted something.  Some sort of transaction. Perhaps that's what the negotiation was about.  It isn't until I look down at the gunman's gun again that I realize he actually had three pistols. The third was attached to his body, riding up the side of his leg. He has grabbed it in order to prove a point, I think. It's so hard that I can almost see the throbbing through his tight slacks. 

 

When he grabs his penis, I watch intently at his arms and the native tattoos.

 

"You're a native..."

 

It is obvious due to his dark berry red looking skin which had orangey undertones.  My skin is lighter than his. I've been able to pass as white most times with people not knowing I'm native.  Save my honey olive skin tone and perhaps a slight accent, I was white. My hair short, straight as grass, swallowed completely by a red rimmed hat I'd gotten two weeks ago. Underneath my hat are my thick glasses, starched shirt, vest and overly pressed trousers that accentuated my 5'11" frame.  

 

"Yeah."

 

 

"Ahuli," I state, "Ahuli.  That's my tribe."




"Ahuli?"  he asks, "Oh yeah.  I remember the stories when I was a kid . Ahuli wow.  Ahuli. Didn't think there were any more of those. I'm Makawee.   One of the last actually. Well have a good day brother..."

 

"Have a good day..."

 

"Now Clay-----what we were saying..."




Clay, the boy whore turns to me, "He's still here."



I'm still there.  Still in the hallway.  Stuck. Not sure why.  

I look at the Native and am shocked, "You're goddamn beautiful."

 

I said that already. 

He seems annoyed, "You done yet?"



"Done what?"



"Staring..."



I felt my face go hot, and jerked my gaze away, "Sorry."




"Not much else to look at," he tells me, forgivingly, "Save the floor.  Go on back and mind your business."

 

After addressing me he turns back to his conversation.   I notice who the man is he's talking to. A younger boy with a flushed pig's face. He looks like a dime's worth of dog meat.The man didn't seem concerned much about the pig face.   His eyes zoom directly to the boy's ass, surveying it seems like he's clearly more interested in that than any sort of facial requirement.

 

The boy, seemingly one of the ones who sells themselves for cash, uses this opportunity to sure up any attempt of a deal.

 

And I'm still there.



"You from these parts. The West?" I ask, interrupting their deal yet again. 


Why do I want to have a conversation with him? 

"You want to get shot that bad?" The outlaw asks in return, clearly irritated, "You keep interrupting me and you gonna catch a bullet boy."

 

"You gonna get us kicked off the train, Maverick..." Pigboy states, "People'll start complaining—-and what not."

 

The Native, looks over at me uninterested which I admit I kind of find perplexing considering what he does find interesting.  The pig boy had both a horrible look and personality.

 

The man, unbothered,  looks me up and down and considers, then spits a wad down past my shoe, "This lil shit ain't gonna do a damn thing. Where we going Clay?"

 

He flicks whatever he has in his mouth at me. A plug of tobacco perhaps. I watch it, disgusted as it lands is a wet squish far too close for comfort.

 

Pigboy grunts, "No where, like we started."

 

"Listen I'm not going to keep asking for ass much longer," he states, "Clearly I'm attractive.  I could have anyone. See. Anyone! You should feel lucky I want you tonight. I told you I have enough to pay."



Pigboy grunts again,"Its extra for natives."




"You're goddamn evil, is what you are Clay.  All I want is some of that warm pink hole."




"Fuck off, Kid.  I'll call the law.  I will!"



"You evil, ass-stingy piece of shit.   I outta----"

 

The two are going back and forth in front of me with no sense of stopping.

 

Pigboy soon begins screaming, "You gonna hit me again.  Go ahead hit me. OH! That's all you got? That's all you got you aint-----  OUCH! Damn Kid, why'd you hit me like that. Kid, you piece of shit. All you goddamn Mooney gang boys are the same. That shit hurt!  Ya didn't have to hit me like that."




I should leave.  Let the men have their moment.  

 

The outlaw at this point is slapping the kid around.   The trained stopped not too long ago to pick people up from the town of Red River.  The good citizens see the outlaw dragging the poor boy around and beating his ass the entire time.  The good citizens of the town walked by on either side, a whore getting beaten was no more remarkable than a cat worrying a bird's corpse.  It was the nature of those wild `natives'; it was the nature of the world.

 

To them the white boy shouldn't have ever mixed with a Native.   He earned it.

 

"Alright, that's enough," I reach out to stop them.

 

Just at that moment, I drop a bag on the floor.  Some money comes out. I reach out to get the money but notice that the outlaw has picked it up before I got to it. 

 

"Whoo-ee! Will you lookit all that money!"

 

I reach out, "Thanks for..."




The man pulls away. 

 

Dadblasted!  He's out of reach and I'm not sure he would appreciate me reaching again.    He holds tight onto my purse. When I signal for it he stops me with a stiff arm.  Real stiff. Stiff enough that I feel a heavy pain in my chest that causes me to stumble back.   The Native Outlaw smiles, happier than a cat in heat.  

 

I'd made a mistake staying here.

Desperate I stare at him and bite my lip, "Sir that is all the money I have to my name."

 

"Oh you're good."


I'm not sure what he means."



"May I have it back please?"

 

The pigboy laughs at my begging,  "You're not getting it back, boy.   You sure you ain't got any more where that came from?  You need a date for the night?" Clay asks, "Tight and wet over here.  This is the Simon Pure."

 

 

"He don't want a date with you Clay," the guy states, "He has one already."



I'm confused, "What?"

 

The outlaw pushes Clay away, "You think I'm still beautiful cityslicker?"




I nod, "Yeah."




"Good. Where I'm from, you find someone beautiful—- You buy them a drink.  You got a date kid. A date with me, that is."




He starts leading me towards the saloon car.  He doesn't even wait for me to accept his terms.  No point in waiting. I don't think I had much of a choice. 

 

~

 

"What if I told you there is a prize.  A mythical prize out there,"the outlaw asks.

 

 

I shrug, "Sounds like it would be hard to find."




"Not if you have the right tool."





"Oh I found the tool already," he explains, "That's why I'm here.  I'm bringing the tool back to my boss and then we are going to go looking for the prize.  It'll be an adventure..."




"Does danger excite you?"




He shrugs, "I suppose.  I prefer ass...or pussy to excite me though."





"None of that here," I tell him.

He gives me a look and licks his lips, "Who says?  You got a nice one on you. Even better than that goddamn bedwench.  You got a nice puckering hole, Native?"



"The name is Season."



"You gonna answer my question bout your hole, Summertime?"




I shake my head, "People don't...talk like this...in public."

 

 

"I do..."



"That's the problem."

 

 

The Saloon car is packed.  As though he realizes I'm with trouble, the porter brings over a paper and hands it to the outlaw. 

 

Saloon Rules:

Leave Gun with bartender

No dancin' on the bar

No fightin' or cussin'

No spittin on the floor

No pissing in the spittoons 

 

The outlaw had managed to break every rule except for the fightin and it's only cause he'd already done so earlier and no one yet has been stupid enough to get on his bad side. 

 

"Food ain't going nowhere..."



"What?" he asks with a wince, "I ain't so beautiful anymore when I eat huh?"



He was.  That's what's so sickening about it.   He's so damn attractive as he's moppin' up his plate in a matter of minutes.  He's not the most sophisticated person and he knows it. There are others on this train.  Others from the East going West for business, or visiting, or setting up a new life. They were quality, poshed and worthy citizens and then there was the outlaw.  Loud-talking and bumbling his way through a plate of food that I was paying for. 

 

"One more..."  he slaps a glass of Cactus white with heavy blackberry liquor back on the table.



"You sure you can handle another?" the bartender asks.



He's drunk.  Clearly. Everyone has noticed and the bartender seems to be bothered due to the steady, sporadic annoyance of other patrons who are leaving the car due to a loud outlaw who seemed to be very voicefrous about how pissed off he was at the pigfaced bedfaggot for charging him extra due to his heritage.

 

"What do I look like? A kid?" he asks.

 

"No..."



"Well I should, you piece of shit, because I am a kid.  I'm the Kid," he states, "Kid Maverick."




With a name like Kid Maverick, I doubt him fingering at the gun of his holster was just for play.  I look over at the bartender. His line of sight doesn't reveal what Kid is doing underneath the table.  I'm desperate to stop the bartender from making the biggest mistake of his life. 

"Please," I state pressing down my lips, pleading wordlessly.

 

 

The bartender nods, "Yes sir."

 

 

He gives Maverick a thick expression before smiling more gently at me and prepping another drink.

 

The outlaw raises an eyebrow when the bartender moves away from us, "You're a manipulative, little thing aren't you?"




I shrug innocently, "I have no idea what you're talking about."



I really didn't, not when he looks at me suspiciously.  I just asked nicely. It seemed like a strange concept to him though as he settles back into his chair, finally seeming interested in speaking to me about something other than his raging hard on now that I got him a drink 

"What's your name again city slicker?" he asks.

 

"Dr. Season Samuels."



"Serious?"



"About my name? Or my title?"

 

"The name, doc. Or what you said it was, at least."




I'm confused, "Of course.  That's my name."




His beer is back.  Not like he needs it.  By now he's slurring. Doesn't stop him from slurping it down in record times and then looking at me.  Like an idiot I am the one who has to give the bartender another look which Kid is convinced is a gift of manipulation.  

 

"Goddam, manipulator," he responds when the bartender pours him a brace of bourbon, "That's what you are.  I see it in those eyes of yours."




I'm confused, "Can you?  Manipulative? Wow----that's a new one.   Never got that before, not even from my Miriam's mother...and she hates me."




"Your Miriam- ?"




"My wife.  Well...was my wife."




"How'd she die?"



"Didn't.  She ended up leaving me," I explain pressing my back up against the back of my chair and drinking a bit of cider leftover in my glass, "Guess not even my manipulative eyes could keep her."



"Who can see your eyes behind those glasses?" he asks, "You look so out of place,."




I shrug, "Sorry I can't have eyes like yours."



"How are my eyes?"



"They remind me of the darkness before a storm," I explain to him, "They are the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."




He adjusts in his chair.  I'm making him uncomfortable even though he does the minimum amount of reaction before settling back into his drunken stupor and getting comfortable again.  I wonder if he knew how attracted I was to him. He was like a magnet. And even though I pretend as though I'm interested in the purse, that wasn't it.

 

My eyes were addicted to him.

 

"You Ahuli are so strange..."

 

"You know Ahuli?"




He nods, "The tribe is familiar to me.  Strange. All the same. All the things you people do.  You a mixed breed?"




"My mother's white," I nod, "My tribe was massacred a few years ago.  Every last one of them."



"Goddamn it," he states, "You know who did it?"




"No one knows.  I wasn't there. I'd gone to university at that point, When I returned all they kept saying was the White Biter did it..."

 

He raises his eyebrows, "You out here looking for this White Biter?  You got a debt to settle?"



"I'm no gunslinger, friend," I assure him with a laugh, "No debt.  Just traveling West for a job."




"What job?"




"I'm a doctor. A Psychologist."



"A what?"



"I help people.  People who linger from Melancholia," I explain, "A family hired me.  William and Mary Todd. They are having marital issues."




He looks at me with interest, leaning over and watching me.  His eyes glued to me the entire time as though I'm telling the most interesting story he'd ever heard. 



"You some type of head doctor..." he states.

 

"Pretty much."





"So what's up with this William Todd.  He can't get hard or something?"




"It's not about coitus.  There isn't a problem with Mr. Todd's performance.  The issue is more with Mary Todd," I explain, "Mary Todd wrote me a letter.  She was a few years younger than her husband when they'd met. For that reason, William was always a bit----perhaps I shouldn't be sharing all this. Besides you couldn't possibly care about....", 




"I do care," he stops me, "Finish."



Strange.  Especially coming from him. 

 

"Mary wrote me several dozens letter," I explain, "Desperate letters.  She wants out of a unhealthy relationship. She loves William but their relationship is not satisfying to her"




He shakes his head, 

"Well doc sound like this here Mary is going through her trials."





I nod, "You have no idea."





"How much she paying you?"




"She offered money.  Quite a lot actually, but I didn't take it," I state, "I'm not aiding her for the money.  I'm offering my assistance because I care."




He grunts and snickers as though the concept is so strange to him.  Maybe it is. Maybe in his world doing something nice for someone doesn't mean much.  I do know however that Mary's words were the most poetic words I'd ever seen written in my life.  I'd never been so moved by anyone and I was ready to help her. 

"You're a fool, coming all this way," he explains, "A nice fool but a fool none-the-less.  Do you know where this train stops."




"San Francisco."

 

"The last stop, but before then someplace else," he explains, "Before then it stops in Dark Spire Valley."




"Where?"




"A city of outlaws," He explains, "The most dangerous place in the world.  By this time tomorrow we'll be there."




Dark Spire Valley.  I had never heard of it.   I notice however the booze clerk's eyes lift up at the mere mention of it.  He knows it. He won't butt into our conversation but the name definitely rings bells. 

 

"We'll just be riding through."





"If I were you...some poor Ahuli Mind Doctor from the city," he starts off, "I would have gotten on another train.  Because on a train like this, going to a place like that, you'll meet people like me. And you want to stay away from people like me.   You can protect yourself?"




"No..."




"Shame. Cause I would have liked some back up."




At that moment I notice why he says that.   I watch as several men walk up to us. Men who clearly seem to have a bone to pick.  They look like they are officials, somehow related to the train. 

"Are you Kid Maverick?"




Maverick doesn't move.  He wipes the rim of his glass, slow and easy not bothered by their sizes or numbers.  I look over at the men and look at Kid. Clearly I'm out of place here.

 

"Who wants to know?"




"The law.  We've been ordered to arrest you before you get to Dark Spire."



"For robbing that bank in Kansas City?"


"Yep."

"Took out two guards and nicked the banker cuz he was moving too goddamn slow?'

"Yep"

"Tied up all three and put 'em the safe?"

"Yep"

Maverick finished off his shot before levelling them with a deceptively lazy stare.

"Then I'd say one of you cocksuckers has a big mouth, cuz dead men don't talk."

I get nervous, as the room seemed extra quiet, but then there's laughter. I realize these men are with Maverick's gang. A rangey looking white man with blonde hair, the other a tall Asian, with a scar accenting his jawline. Both have on similar leathers, and a way about them that just stood out as crooked.

"I  heard there are Ahuli boys who can hex guns."

They all start talking at once. It's hard to tell who's saying what when two more members of the gang enter the caboose  seemed intent on yelling back and forth, until somebody said something about gambling and the group of them moved onto another caboose.

"Hexed  guns?" I finally asked




He nods, "They pray on bullets.  Makes them hit their target."



By now the car was nearly empty, the outlaws having chased most of the other passengers away.

 

"I don't believe in the old native rituals," I explain, "So much of it seems superstitious."




"Nah it's valuable," he states, "I know this guy who would kill to have someone bless his gun.  You bless guns?"



"I told you I don't believe in those sorts of things."




"That's not what I ask."




"Do Makawee bless guns..."

 

"Nah, I wish.  Wouldda shot Clay.  That's not what my people are known for," he lets me know, "The Makawee are known for our passionate love making skills."



I roll my eyes, "Oh please."




"Serious," he asks, "You doubt me?  Don't. I can assure you. You kin gamble yer arse, all bets would be off I have a night in that Ahuli hole."




I don't respond. 

 

The talk makes me uncomfortable.  Even more uncomfortable when the table next to ours overhears.  Mormons, no doubt envisioning fire and brimstone and the agonies of hell, for having imagined what Maverick was wanting to do with me.  The entire table leaves in a huff with dire warnings about our eternal souls, or some such dribble.

The bartender mumbled something about needing a break and left, completely unnoticed by Maverick. 

 

After a few moments of my silence, he leans over and whispers, "You ever been with a man?"

 

He pauses.  The question is very blunt.  When he talks to me his mouth flicks at my ear.  He is close now, close enough that the warmth from his body entangles me. 

"That's kind of private."



"Do I look like someone who gives a horse's hair about your privacy?"



He had a good point.

"No."



Nervously I turn to him.

 

"You have some Makawee in you as well?



I gulp, "No."

"Would you like some?"



The conversation starts like this but doesn't end like this.  The light talk turns to heavy talk. Before I know it, my inhibitions lowered as the subject focused more and more on sex.  He'd let me know several times now that he was horny. He'd travelled a long way and he needed a night of unwind. 

 

And before I know it I'm pressed up against the wall, unsure of how I got here.  

 

"You enjoy sex with your wife?"




He takes off his shirt and lays it on the table.  Still, I'm unsure why I'm doing this. He hasn't given me back my purse yet, even though I've asked twice now.  The conversation we've been having has been scattered, due to the alcohol but also because we were so different. 

 

"I'd prefer not to talk about my Miriam."




"She ain't yours no longer," he reminds me, "It's OK.  Us Matawee have learned to make the average man forget those sorts of things."



He takes out some necklace, says some silent words and lays it on his shirt.  He continues to remove certain things, things that may seem special to him. Colored jewelry.  I wonder what they are but I don't ask. I just stand there, terrified, waiting as he finishes his Matawee ritual. 

When the Native ritual is done, he stands there completely naked.  His skin bronzed and buttered.  

 

"Are we about to?"


"Only if you want to.  You're not a bedfaggot.  Not gonna pay you. Gonna be free, you understand?"





I nod, "OK."



"You want this?"



I'm too quick to respond, "Yes."

 

"Come closer..."

 

I sit in a chair next to him, unsure if the answer was really yes.  What was it that I really wanted? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that since the moment I met him I couldn't take my eyes off of him.  Finally I got the nerve, moved closer to him and slowly reached out my hand, looking up at him occasionally for reassurance. He doesn't bother to give any but spreads his legs wider, allowing me good access to see his now semi-hard cock, neither of us saying a word for the moment as my hand found his cock, the warm flesh feeling good underneath my palm as I slowly slid my fingers around the girth. 

 

Finally I decided it was time to fulfill what had only been a suppressed thought until now as I moved my face towards his knob, lifting him closer to my lips.   I began kissing the tip of his cock, enjoying the feeling of his smooth, but hard knob, opening my lips more with every kiss, eventually taking his flared dick out of my mouth,.

 

He lifts me up, and  lays me on the table.

 

And begins to fuck my face with a smooth slow rhythm before saying, "You have some beautiful lips you know that.  Would you kiss a man?"




"You..."




"There's nothing special about me."




It's a lie.  I realize that when he leans in and kisses me.  We eased into a passionate kiss, his tongue pushing at my lips as I gave in and opened my mouth to let him in, his tongue wriggling around my tongue, the sensation feeling rather erotic, our lips sucking each others and our bodies pressed hard against each other. 

 

Our kissing continued for some time with my hard cock straining at my trousers, pressed against his naked member. Our hands roaming each others bodies.  We stopped for a moment from kissing as he knelt down in front of me, pulling my drawers over my hard cock and to the floor, my cock pointed straight at his face resting close to his lips.   He looks up at me for a sign I wanted to be taken and then slowly gripping my waist, he held me there for a second.   

 

I could not believe how good it felt, no woman had ever made my cock feel like this.   He continued moving slowly up and down my full length, my knob sliding easily in and out of his throat, constantly sending shivers through my body.  

 

"I want to be your first," he tells me, "The first to take this..."




I knew I shouldn't.  I knew perhaps I was getting too emotional during sex.  This sex wasn't just sex. I'd felt like I'd had my mind opened up to something else.  Some Makawee deep secret that no one was aware of. 

 

 

"I ...I don't know..."



"You know..."



After having him work me open with his fingers, he spits into his palm.  He got closer to me, feeling his body move between the inside of my legs, watching him direct his knob to my opening, my mind racing at the anticipation of feeling him touch me.  With a jolt up my spine, I felt his knob rest at my hole, the moment I had not thought would happen was here. Ever so gently, he pressed into me, telling me to relax my arse muscles and let him enter, finally with a small amount of pain his mushroom head entered me.  My ass closed tightly around his shaft.  

 

I loved it.

I loved every single part of it.  The control he has on his own body.  And that's when I feel it. That's when I feel the vibrating of his penis.  

 

I can't take it. 

 

I push him out of me, "What are you doing to me?"






I fall to the floor. The feeling was something I'd never felt in my life.  I hadn't thought something could feel "too good" until now. That's when I realize what he's saying about his tribe and about their skills was true.

"Native tribes have secrets.  You should know that. Each tribe keeps theirs close.   "I told you, us Makawee have our ways. And your tribe has yours as well."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about."



"Show me."




I pause.  All my life I had promised never to show anyone the secrets that I had been taught when I was younger. 

"It's called a hex," I tell him, "I hex something and things...happen.  Sometimes random things. Terrible things. So I don't put a hex on everything...but with bullets...it's different."




"How?"




"Imagine this was a bullet."



I reach down and pick up a pin that fallen from my suspenders.  Mrs. Jacqueline gave it to me when she'd noticed a pair of my trousers were coming out at the seams. I kept one pinned to my suspenders now. Afterall,  I no longer had a wife to patch those things up for me. 

 

He gets up.

"You're leaving."




He doesn't respond until he gets dressed completely.  It's almost agony. My mind going through up and down emotions the entire time.  I want to learn how he was able to make his cock vibrate as though it were some sort of rattlesnake.   I want to tell him to put it back in. I want to feel it again. But at the same time I felt uncertain.

 

All my life I knew where to be and how to get there.

All my life I helped people get to where they needed to be. 

 

That was what I was good at but first time in my life I am completely lost and it's Kid Maverick who has that effect on me.



"I want to make sure I'm ready for the Dark Spire," he explains, "I have to get my boss's package ready for him."

 

He heads to the door.

 

For a moment I'm desperate.  I don't know why. My mind is heavy.  I'm concerned. The sex that I had with this man wasn't just sex.  It was mind blowing. It's the kind of things people never experience in their lives.  And the scary thing is: we didn't finish.

 

 

 

"I...enjoyed you," I admit.

"I enjoyed you too," he licked his lips, "The conversation too.  You're so different from anyone I've ever met."




He spreads a soft smile.  He's not someone I should be attracted too.  He's far too blunt, far too uncivilized and far too dangerous.   So when he's standing up and walking away I realize that he might be right.  I'm a fool. I should stay on this train. I should head to California. I should visit Tom and Mary.  I could help them with their marriage. I could help them with all the troubles in their lives. 

 

But like an idiot I stand. 

"Wait...I know you don't know me," I tell him, "I know this doesn't happen a lot.  But I want to spend some time with you."




"My boss wouldn't like that."




"To hell with his package..." I state, "I know you feel it.  I know what just happened wasn't normal. You felt the passion between us as well.  We shouldn't just let that go. We'll never see each other again if we do..."




And I'm desperate.  The day the White Biter came, I'd said goodbye to my family.  I'd said goodbye to my brothers and sisters. My little sister had begged to come to university with me.  She was so happy that her brother was going have a legitimate career. I said goodbye to my father. I had expected they'd be right where they were when I returned.  They always were. And then the letters stopped coming. And then one last letter came. One that told me that I would never be able to see those people that I loved again.  I shouldn't have let them go.  

 

And I wasn't going to let this boy go.

I don't care if he was a stranger.

I would make sure that those old regrets that haunted me from my past wouldn't haunt me now.

 

"My boss won't like it because he's not just my boss.  He means...more to me..."



I'm shocked.

 

"You are involved?"



He nods, "Yes.  I know what you're thinking.  I shouldn't have slept with you if I were happy.  Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I'm not happy. But you don't want to catch feelings for me.  This horse is wild and hard to tame..."

 

I pause.

 

I remember those words but from where.  That's when I look over at him and I notice something else.  Something sticking out of his pocket. It's some sort of drawing.

"What is that?"  I ask.

 

"A picture of the package I'm delivering for my boss..."



That's when I remember the words.  He hands me the picture. I look down at the drawing.  It was lifelike. Perfectly drawn. The person took their time making the illustration clear.

 

"Oh my god."



At that point the door opens.  Gunmen walk in. A gang. I put my hands up immediately bothered.  I look out the window. A dark city is there, in a deep valley. It seems dark out there even though it was the middle of the day.  In the middle of the city there is a large spire going several stories high. 

 

The train was coming to a stop.

 

Dark Spire Valley Station: the land of Outlaws.

 

"This is our stop," he states, "I'm sorry I lied to you.  I had to bring you back. Help me, Mr. Samuels, I'm in a very, sad, tragic, and murderous love affair."




Those words.

Her very last words were the same as Kid Mavericks, "Help me, Mr. Samuels.  I'm in a very, sad, tragic, and murderous love affair."


This was a set up.  The entire reason I was on this train was a lie.  I remember the letter that Mary Todd wrote me.  

 

Mary Todd and her husband didn't exist.

 

I was being kidnapped...and I think the reason has something to do with a hex...

 

 

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