Bonded by Blood

Bygones

Moonchild
She was running, but her feet felt like they were trudging through quicksand, and she was going nowhere fast. The world around her was crumbling and the world beneath her was melting. Blood dripped down her cheeks, staining them like acid and tasting of venom. She peered behind her, but there was nothing. Nothing but blackness. What was she trying to get away from? Is it possible that she had forgotten because she had been running for so long? She comes to a halt, gathering her breath and watching the darkness of the world close in on her. Her name could be heard murmured, a cold, wicked, raspy voice that shook her spirit. She rises up to flee again, but when she looks down, she sees that her feet are chained to cinder blocks, and she is now submerged in a dark river of midnight. Water floods her lungs as she cries. She is not alone, there is a shadow in the water. Yes, she can see it. A face. A writhing, maggot-infested face. It lurches towards her, grabbing her, shaking her.

"You did this to me! You did this to me!" It screeches. “Sister, why have you forsaken me?”

Before she can respond, he vanishes in a cloud of soot and crimson, and she slowly begins to lose consciousness as she feels she is being carried to the other side.

-x-

Ida had stirred herself awake, or so she thought. Even the deepest, heaviest sleepers would be startled awake by the wailing coming from downstairs. Another nightmare. More disturbed, more real than the last. This had been going on for many nights.

She scoots down the side of the bed, peeling herself off her cold, sweat-soaked linens. "Brother...if this is you plaguing me from beyond the grave...Have mercy." She murmurs, her face buried in her hands. She can see pieces of dried blood jammed between her fingernails when she opens her eyes. Where did that come from? Perhaps it was the pig roast the night before? After all, the beast bled gallons. Yes, that was it.

She gets dressed and gathers her belongings, tallying her bottles and pills to make sure they were all there as they had spilled all over the floorboards when she passed out while clutching them in her hands. Walking past the room's window, she looks out to see the storm, which is almost as bad as it was the night before when they had stumbled across this place for the night. Then down the stairs, she goes, glancing towards the room down the hall from hers where Mike had most likely slept. He was an early riser so she was sure he was out and about doing something already.

She discovered the cause of the squealing to be the tenant's children butchering another piglet in the kitchen, not the children themselves.

“Good morning.” She remarks groggily, passing by the table where the tenant's wife was plucking a dead chicken. “Breakfast?”

“Mhm. Do you think youse two will be here long enough to join us?” She inquires.

"No, no. Mrs. Jones, I believe you have provided us with sufficient hospitality. We should be on our way. Speaking of which, have you seen my partner around?"

“I’m not sure I have. Perhaps out in the stables? He sure does have a knack for handling steer, I tell you, reminds me of Mr. Jones back in his day.”

“Yeah, he’s a cowpoke, that one.”
 
Michael rose to a quiet house, with only the whistles of the wind and a creaking house keeping him company. He sat up on the end of the bed, lacing up his boots. She's probably dead to the world right now. She was likely sleeping, but there was no guarantee to the rest of the house. He slowly got down to the floor, putting his ear to the boards listening for any hushed voices. The last thing he wanted to do was wake his generous hosts.

He was the only one awake, but he wouldn't go back to bed. He was already up, might as well start the day. He rose to his feet and brushed off his clothes. He put on his pistol belt and quietly left the room. He went down the hall, pausing as he passed her room. Should I wake her? It was a dilemma. If he woke her up, they could get going sooner. If he let her sleep he would have some time alone. She wasn't a nuisance, but dealing with her in the morning was a gamble. He chose to let her sleep and kept walking.

He made his way through the kitchen and slipped out the door, not wanting to sit around waiting. The storm was still raging, but Michael didn't turn back. If he shied away from the rain, then what sort of fair weather bounty hunter would he be? He wandered around the muddy yard. Their stables were drawing him in. Old habits die hard.

He entered the stables and took a lantern off the nail it was hanging on. Michael fished for a match book out of his coat pocket and lit the lamp. The farmers' flock was revealed in its amber glow. Two stood out; Bucky and Lady. He smiled seeing his horse still asleep. He wouldn't wake her despite his urges to brush her neck and tell her 'rise and shine, lady!' His horse was the only creature he'd admit to loving.

He had no purpose being there but he was determined to find one. Glancing around he found many chores, but he'd rather not stir the animals awake. He saw a stump and a maul, and got to work. If he split wood for the old farmer, it should put him in good graces with the whole community. Never know when you'll need connections like that. He picked up the maul and started splitting in the glow of a gas lamp.

He kept splitting as the daylight grew around him. He let his thoughts wander as he kept with his busy work. If this doesn't work out, I could always go back to a ranch at least. He didn't want to, and accepted he would probably die in a gun fight before he retired from this line of work. He saw a mice scurry under the door and promptly shoot back out. He was lost in his daydreaming when a sharp squeal interrupted him. He threw the axe away from him and put his hand on his pistol. Turning towards the noise he drew his gun, ready to blast whatever made that god awful scream. It took him a few seconds to register it as a pig. A slightly embarrassed Michael reholstered his gun and went back to work.
 
As Ida walks out the backdoor of the home toward the barn and stables, she is greeted by a downpour of freezing raindrops. She adjusts her hat to cover more of her face, preventing it from reaching, at the very least, her one good eye. Even though it was dawned by thunderous dark clouds, she admired the sweeping hills beyond the land, which had a mystifying beauty to it all. This part of the country sure was stunning, so much so that she imagined herself retiring and spending the rest of her days here...well, maybe not in this life, but perhaps in another.

Clatter could be heard coming from the stables, and she was placing her bets that it was Mike doing something helpful and charming, as he was so good at. She was fortunate that he was such a personable type of guy because she certainly wasn't, and at least one of them sorely needed those skills or they would not have gotten as far as they did. Rushing into cover from the rain into the stable, coming into view was none other than Mike chopping blocks of wood.

“Oh, well look at you, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” Ida teased, leaning against the wall behind him. “Make friends with the cows?”

She glances over to see Bucky and Lady stationed in stalls beside each other, happily munching on some alfalfa. Poor things didn’t know what was coming to them, soon to be ripped from a warm barn and out into the bitter, cold again. She was sure they enjoyed their stay here, as most nights they were left sleeping under the stars even in less favorable weather. Ida sighs, was she developing a soft spot for the buggers? Even after Bucky had famously bucked and flung her off his back countless of times? Well, when you walk a thousand miles across a nation with something, you suppose you grow a little close.

"I'd say we're well-supplied, as Mrs. Jones there wouldn't allow us go without carrying as much food and drink as we could. But what exactly is our game plan? Head up north into the hills? This lunatic seems to be watching our every move. We gotta' stay one step ahead of em'.”
 
He had been daydreaming again when he heard her enter the stable. He didn't look over. He knew it must have been her, who else would go out in the rain to go talk to him? He sighed. His time alone was over. He wanted to tell her off, but he'd rather not start anything with her this early. It'd be the start of a very long day. He drove the ax into the stump and turned around. "Abby don't like the rain."

He looked at his partner, wet from the storm. "Did you get your beauty sleep?" He smiled and started to stack the wood he had split. He didn't want to stand idle just for chit chat with his partner. He bent over to grab some wood and stopped when she mentioned supplies. "I suppose there's room in the saddlebags.." He ignored her question for the moment. Reaching down to his pocket, he felt for some coins. "Where else will we go?"

He stopped even trying to stack wood, standing straight to think. "I'd rather not go East to the middle of bum town, especially if this guy is following us. If we go to the hills, he might have a harder time following us." He shrugged, "I'm afraid I'm running out of ideas here, Ida. I wanna catch this bastard." He lifted his hat to run his hands through his hair. Putting his hat back on, he let out a sigh. He resumed stacking wood. "At least it won't be flooded up in the hills. We'll chart it out when this over."

When he finished stacking the split wood, he again felt for coins in his pocket. He pulled out two silver dollars and left them on the stump. He had a feeling if he offered to pay directly he would be refused. "I guess we should speak with our hosts." Michael left the stables and was again welcomed by the rain. He walked to the backdoor and knocked twice before entering. He filled the doorway as he looked around the kitchen. He stepped out of the way so Ida could enter too. "Good morning ma'am. Me and my partner will have to be leaving. Ida here tells me you want to send us out with a feast. Now, I insist ma'am, we'll be fine, but thank you for the offer."
 
Ida began to pace about the stable, eyeing all of the various tools and things, but it was a lasso strung from a rusted peg nailed to the wall that drew her attention. Mike, she was sure, knew how to wield one of those; maybe he'd teach her the technique one day. She, herself, would much rather catch something with a quick bullet to rid the unnecessary thrashing about once you'd caught up to the thing. Small details like this were causing her to recognize the simplicity of life in the countryside; where there were no noisy, bustling streets rife with crime and debauchery to worry about, just blissful peace and quiet.

“Sure did. Haven’t had a room to myself in—well, you know how long.” Ida lied. She tossed and turned for half the night, as she did most nights, but this time in the seclusion of four walls. In fact, she was exhausted, with a nagging ache in her bones and body for which she had no idea what was causing it. A sweet little prick of heroin was the only thing that could wind her down.

“I hate to finally admit it, Mike, but this might be one of Ace’s dogs come after me. After what the bureau forced me to blab about them, I'm certain I've got a bullseye on my back. The price was too good not to.” She chewed her lower lip, recalling her days in Brooklyn. They truly were not that far away in the past, but it felt like a different lifetime than this one. Why had she made such a blunder? For one thing, being caught up with Ace's gang, but then selling them out on her way out?

“I think up the hill is our best bet. I’m damn sure whoever it is won’t resist the temptation of sifting through those golden waters anyhow, so maybe we’ll meet them in the middle.” Ida's shoulders were tense from it all, but seeing Mike leave a few coins behind tickled her somewhat. “Aww, you gonna’ leave them a note and flower, too?” She knew her remark would probably annoy him much more than he already was, as he was normally grouchy in the morning and throughout the day, and...hmm, perhaps she was part of the problem?

She dashes out of the barn and back into the storm, splashing mud on her way to the door that Mike had held open for her; the wind slamming the door shut behind them. The aroma of roasted pork tickled her nose, and the warmth of the furnace in the centre of the room relieved her chills. Those kids sure had made quick work of that poor little hog.

“No, I insist. No hardworking officers are going to go without on my watch.” Mrs. Jones gives them a stern look shaking her finger.

Ida scoffs at this, not realizing that the rest of them could hear her. Officers? That was a much nicer way of describing what they truly were.

“Did youse two see my darling, Charles, out there, by chance? I haven’t seen him all morning.” Mrs. Jones turns her back to them, peering out the kitchen window.

Ida looks to Mike, raising a brow. “Haven’t seen him. How about you Mike?”

Suddenly, a shriek is heard from the basement.
 
Michael nodded when she mentioned sleeping alone. Although he enjoyed his time alone, he secretly enjoyed the times they shared a room. It was a glimpse of what normal life would be like. A man and a woman, both rising together to greet the sun. She was much better than some woman from a dusty old saloon. If Ida pressed him about it, he would vehemently deny it. Albeit with scarlet cheeks.

Ida's situation didn't sit right with Michael. She had ratted on her old gang, a stain on her character he stuggled to overlook. Would she rat him out too? He had done some morally questionable deeds for cash before. Mike would never betray someone loyal to him for it. He firmly believed that if she did, he would be able to find and kill her for the mistake. "I can't say I blame them." He looked to her. "But, I'm gonna kill those fucking bastards if they come near." At the end of the day, she was his partner and he would fight for her. He'd been bruised and tossed around for her before.

He nodded when she mentioned the golden waters. "They'll probably give up chasing you if they find gold; you're not worth that much anyway." He disregarded her remarks about leaving flowers. You gotta pick your battles. He tried to keep a cool demeanor but sometimes she was too much. After years riding alone, he still had to adjust to someone ribbing him.

He was eyeing the source of the squealing, still slightly embarrassed about being startled. He was stunned when she called them officers. It was almost an insult to him. He never cared much for authority. "Oh no ma'am, we're not officers. We are private detectives." This wasn't entirely true, Michael had been deputized years ago to help put down a miner's strike. He may not like the sherriffs, but they pay well.

When she asked about her child, he looked around the kitchen. "No ma'am. The house was asleep when I passed through." He looked out the windows, maybe he was in the yard. He looked to his partner. "All I seen was cows."

When he heard the scream his eyes shot to the basement, his hand to his gun. If Ida was a heroin junkie, then Michael was definitely an adrenaline junkie. There was nothing he loved more than throwing himself into action. He knew he would live longer if he didn't. He drew his gun and leaped to basement. Was it wise to get between a mother and her screaming child? Probably not. He didn't care. He scrambled down the stairs, pistol held high and ready for action.
 
Ouch. Mike's comment stung a little, mainly because she knew he was right. Who did she think she was kidding? She wasn't worth chasing after in the first place. She knew that Ace and his entourage didn't hold out much hope for her, and she knew they were way ahead of her in assuming she'd be taken care of by some sort of force of reckoning out here. They probably figured she'd end up in a ditch somewhere, whether it was due to yet another poor lapse in judgment or one too many hits of dope.

Well, case closed, so who was really after them, then?

Ida was relieved that Mike spoke up and made the clarification, because she couldn't come up with a suitable response, especially with the children present. Private detectives. That was better, she reasoned; it was amusing to her that they had never given themselves a title before now. She guessed, in a way, they kind of were detectives.

Everyone seemed to freeze at the same time as the piercing cry from the floorboards under them reverberated through the house. This was no squeal of a pig, this was a cry of human terror, and it made Ida's blood run cold. It was reminiscent of the screams only heard in her nightmares. Mike was the first to jump, instincts taking over. Mrs. Jones and her children trailed Ida cautiously behind. She reaches for the pistol on her left hip, but her holster is empty, then frantically for the one on her right, which is also empty. Her heart sinks into her throat.

“Mike,” She gulps, “You got this? I seem to have misplaced my sole means of defense.”

Sobs could be heard creeping down the stairwell into the basement.

“Papa, oh papa!” A feeble voice cries out, causing Ida to jump out of her skin.

“Lily Anne, is that you?” Mrs. Jones gasps, pushing past all of them to run to her daughter's aid.

“Mrs. Jones, no! We don’t know what’s down—” Ida was too late, Mrs. Jones had burst through the door and revealed the scene.

Little Lily Anne, sits on her knees sobbing into her palms at the sight of her father's mangled body on the cellar floor. For a brief moment, everything was insidiously quiet as everyone seemed to digest what they were seeing before them. Mrs. Jones suddenly throws herself onto her daughter, pulling her face into her chest.

“Don’t look, don’t look. Take your brothers and sisters upstairs. Go.” She lifts her daughter to her feet and ushers the rest of her children out of the room, who are all shaken to tears.

For a while, Mrs. Jones sits there, back to the both of them, in silence. Ida makes nervous glances at her partner, hoping he’ll do something, anything, to alleviate the situation. But Mrs. Jones turns around before this.

"Now, there are only fifteen other folks in this town, and all reside six miles to the north, south, east, and west of this farm; so tell me, who is responsible for this?" With a flick of her hand, she procures a pistol that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one Ida was missing, and she cocks it, pointing it at them.
 
Mike wanted to shout at Ida when he heard she didn't have her guns. What use was she anyway. I'm gonna kick her ass later.. He would never follow through, but he felt better telling himself that.

As he heard the sobbing girl his heart sank. Please just be a dead dog. Then he saw the blood. He was kicking himself. They led the killer right to this family. He kneeled down and looked closer at the body. This was worse than the last cadaver. No simple murder, this one was mutilated. Was he just having fun with the bodies now?

He only looked away from the body quickly to see Mrs. Jones escort her children away. He was still looking around, pistol in hand trying to make sense of it. He took his attention away from the bloody mess. "Ida-" he stopped seeing the recent widow standing back to them. He rose to his feet.

When she pulled a gun on them, he put his thumb on the hammer of his own piece. He had a gun drawn on him many times, but it still triggered his fight or flight response. His instincts told him to shoot the threat. Leaving these kids an orphan was not an option to Michael. "Now ma'am I don't know what you're insinuating but put the gun down ma'am" he cocked his pistol and leveled it at her. "But this ain't a game you wanna play." He started walking towards her, moving his other hand as he spoke. "We're here to help you. We work with the sheriff, remember? We're detectives." He kept closing the distance. He hated hostage negotiations, especially when they were the ones he was negotiating for.

"We have some questions for you as well ma'am" It was times like this he wished he was a smaller target. Should he just go for it and try to charge her? The children made it complicated. Extra witnesses. He didn't want word to go around that these two strangers killed their father and then gave their mother a black eye. He had to choose between that and his life. He kept his gun trained on her, seeing if she would back down.

The last thing he wanted was to leave these kids orphans.
 
Already on edge from an onslaught of emotions, this situation threatened to push Ida over a dangerous line, which usually meant she'd do something really, really stupid. Her heart raced, she was defenseless; how in the world did this lady get her hands on her gun? She dared not make any sudden movements in the presence of an emotional, widowed mother behind a cocked gun; so she scanned everything in her peripheral vision, which was limited due to her left eye's condition. A shovel leaned against a leather-working table to the right of her, and atop of it a hammer. But there was no way she could get either one of them underhandedly. This could not possibly end well, could it?

Another gun was cocked, this time it was Mikes'. Did he have this under control? Mrs. Jones couldn't possibly shoot him, maybe Ida, but not Mike, who had already practically become a member of the family thanks to his fanciful stories at dinner and his help around the barn. Though Ida wanted to pour concrete in his boots when he started walking towards her, it was foolish. But maybe, this was good, maybe he could distract her long enough for Ida to get her hands on something…

“I gave the two of you the benefit of the doubt, you know. Charles he…he warned me, he said he had a funny feeling about you two. And I looked the other way, wore my heart on my sleeve, and now...now look at him.” Mrs. Jones had tears streaming down her cheeks, and a shaky hand pointed straight at Mike's head. She sniffled and paused, then her countenance became sober and serious.

“No. No, I don't think so. I think this detective story is some made up fairytale land bullshit. What kind of detective leaves their gun at the scene of the crime, huh?”

Ida’s eyes widened. What did she mean? However, there was no time to internalize this, as she could see Mrs. Jones' finger was beginning to pull back on the trigger and aimed straight for Mike's temple. Ida tackles her without a second thought, and the gun fires, albeit off to the side.
 
Mike knew approaching her wasn't the smartest move, but he was out of options. He thought it was the best for her. A voice in the back of his head kept telling him to just pull the trigger and run. End it. It's self defense right? You wouldn't hang for this, she killed her husband and tried to kill you. Shoot her Mike. Just fucking shoot her.

Those kids. Those damn kids. Orphaned on a frontier farm. They'd either go to the state or to the coyotes.

Seeing the widow pause and sniffle gave him hope. Maybe she would reconsider taking his life. Regaining her composure, the hope was lost. She didn't believe that they were detectives. Was peace still an option with her? If she thought they were outlaws, why would they waste their time by staying until the morning. He didn't feel she would accept any sort of reasoning in her emotional state. What kind of detective leaves their gun at the scene of the crime? A very numb one. He was starting to wonder if things would be better if he worked alone again. Why the hell did she not have her guns? Not even a knife.

Just when he was starting to doubt the value of his partner, she quickly proved her worth. Michael usually looked down on her rash behavior, it saved his skin this time around. He had some hesitation hitting the woman based on principles, but Ida wasn't held back by it. There was definitely some benefits to having a woman tag along with him, even a cyclops. A gun shot rang out in the basement and his ears were ringing.

"Bout time!" He shouted. Not out of anger, he couldn't hear a thing. He put his thumb back on the hammer, decocking and reholstering the revolver. Mike piled onto the two women, his eyes on the gun that almost ended him. He felt himself crashing into Ida as he landed. She would have to forgive him later. With a death grip on her wrist he grabbed the gun and torqued it from her hand. "Give it up!" Once it was free he slid it a few feet away. He reached our with his foot and slid it across the floor with his boot.

There goes the easy way. Now what? They have a dead man, and a vengeful woman restrained. He took a deep breath and assessed the situation. He looked to his partner and then around the basement. He spotted the gun laying across the floor "You're gonna wanna get some pocket pistols." He looked back to Ida. "Cause when you find your guns I'm gonna shove them up your ass so you don't lose them." He should be nicer to her, she did just save his life. In the heat of the moment however, he didn't refrain from chiding her.
 
Back
Top