The next day, I woke up feeling more energetic than I had in a long time. I stood up and walked around my room, nearly fainting once I reached the window.  

I sat down on my bed and finger combed my tangled hair.  

The boy stepped in through the open door and froze at the sight of me. 

“I feel well enough to leave now,” I said. 

“Oh?” 

“As much as I’d love to stay and help ya’ll fight off the bandits, I have my own man to kill. I can’t risk dying again and letting him get away.” 

He cleared his throat and stared at the ground.  

“Why do you wanna kill him so bad?” 

“He murdered my baby sister.” 

His blue eyes narrowed.  

“That so? Ya want company to complete the task?” 

I tilted my head. He almost looked sincere. 

“Thanks for the offer, but I need to do this alone.” 

The boy nodded without meeting my gaze.  

“Then at least allow me to guide you out of this hell hole. I wanna make sure you make it out alive. It’s the least I can do after… you know.” 

I crossed my arms and studied him intently. People who loved getting their way through violence were often shrewd and charming when they needed to be. There was no reason why he would be any different.  

I had no idea what the kid had been up to since we last parted ways, but a small part of me wanted to trust him. He was the only person left in the world, besides Max and the saloon girls, who knew me somewhat. The thought made me shudder.  

“Why are you being so accommodating?” I asked. “What do you want?” 

“The night that you chose to leave me alive changed me, you know. You’re the most merciful person I have ever met.” 

I shook my head. 

“I’m not a good person.” 

“I meant what I said. I want to do right by you after what you did for me.” 

“I can’t believe we’re here right now, talking about this.” 

“It is a little strange.” 

I almost laughed. 

“I’d say it’s very strange.” 

He walked out and left me to my privacy. I closed the door to have a final moment alone in the room. I would soon return to life’s big game of survival for the sole purpose of killing Max.  

I stared at the broken mirror and gasped. I looked at the distorted reflection and saw the person that I had become. That mirror told the truth about me.  

I gathered my wits and walked downstairs. I found the surgeon and four other men sitting on the dirty floor with their shotguns and their rifles. 

“Get down,” hissed one of them. 

I dropped to my hands and knees. 

“Thank you for helping me and for keeping me here while I recovered, but I need to get outta here and finish some business elsewhere. Doctor, thanks for saving my life.” 

The doctor tipped his hat before gazing back out the window. 

“Just doin’ my job, Ma’am.” 

I found the boy sitting in the dark corner of the room. His oversized coat and wide eyes reminded me how young he still was. I couldn’t ask him to risk his life for me, even if he had been a devil a few years ago. I took in a deep breath and no longer regretted sparing him that night. Mercy had its place. 

“This journey is my own,” I said. “So, I’ll leave alone.” 

I looked at the doctor.  

“Is there a horse I could use? My… Angel was in that burning stable.” 

I regretted eating earlier that morning. Thinking about my dead loved ones again made me feel the worst form of ill. I fought the urge to empty the contents of my stomach right there by thinking of the beautiful views I would see on my final quest.  

The boy began to mutter in protest, but the doctor raised a hand to silence him.  

“Let her go, George. She can take the quarter horse out back.” 

“What’s the best way outta here?” I asked. 

“Ride behind the buildings as fast as you can get that horse to run. I doubt that the bandits will be able to get a decent shot at you since they’re hidin’ in the building across the road. They’d be more interested in killing us since we’re guarding the money. We’ll all cover you if needed.” 

I winced at the thought of enduring another bullet wound, but it was a chance I had to take.  

I went to open the back door and stopped before turning the knob to face the boy named George.  

“George, it wasn’t your fault. The death of your brothers. None of that was your fault.” 

The kid removed his hat and stared at me as though I were a ghost or something. 

“What is your name?” he asked. 

“Mary.” 

“Godspeed, Mary.” 

I gave him a bittersweet smile. After he had put through hell years ago, it settled my stomach a little to know that I would be parting with him in peace.  

It stung to take my gaze away from his newfound kindness only to step back out into the corrupt world. I walked outside, half expecting one of the bandits to appear around the corner and shoot me.  

The quarter horse stood just outside. It was tied to the post as the doctor said it would be. I walked up to the animal and brought my hand to his muzzle so he could take in his new master’s scent. I climbed into the saddle and silently begged for God to spare me yet again.  

I urged my mount into a run, cringing at the sudden noise that our departure made. No shots were fired, but it was not until I rode out of the town that I stopped hyperventilating.  

Surprised, I glanced over my shoulder at the thick cloud of dust that my departure stirred. Guilt tightened my stomach. I left the men who helped me, even though I was nothing more than a stranger to them. I thought about George’s childish gaze before I left the building and felt a pang of guilt.  

My hands pulled on the reins as I glanced back at the town. They could have left me for dead in that old bank, but they didn’t. 

I cursed in exasperation and jumped down from the saddle. I tied my new mount to a sturdy tree, loaded my pistol, and walked back to the town.  

It seemed to be the home of ghosts and tumbleweeds at first glance. A passerby would have never known that a violent gang hid in one building and a band of townsmen sat on watch in the other. Another battle was about to take place over nothing important. A part of me wished that the fools would just yield their money to the bandits so everyone could be on their way, but I understood their resolve. It was their home and they had already lost so much of it.  

I kept my finger on the trigger, knowing it was unlikely for one of them to jump out of nowhere at me, but still half expecting it.  

I stepped off the street and travelled behind the buildings toward the bandits’ refuge. I glanced down the alley at the bank’s front window. I thought I saw the surgeon’s head shake back and forth at my brash stupidity. I could hardly believe that I returned to the scene either, but there I was. The people in the torn up bank were the closest things I had to friends and they were worth fighting for.  

I took a deep breath and focused my attention on the task at hand. The inability to stay focused on anything for a prolonged amount of time had always been a weakness of mine. It was a strange revelation to occur to me as I placed myself in a life-threatening situation once again. Flirting with death had become my way of life, for better or for worse.  

I waved to make my presence known to my allies across the street, locating George’s youthful profile through the window as he watched me. The doctor stood next to him. My stomach fluttered at the sight of them waving back and I smiled. I was not without friends as I stepped toward the lions’ den.  

As I stepped around to the back of the bandits’ stronghold and found a partially open door, I hoped that the surgeon meant it when he said that they would have my back. My heart knocked my ribs like a caged animal, and for a moment, I thought that it was going to drop into my stomach.  

I slowly opened the back door of the building.  

I crept through the dark room and wondered if my thundering heartbeat would make my presence known. I peered into the next room. Three shadowy figures sat on the floor beneath the single window. Light streamed in through the broken glass, highlighting their painfully young faces. 

One of them leaned against the wall, while the other two crouched below the pane chewing on jerky. I stared at them in morbid fascination until movement from outside startled all of us.  

George and the surgeon ran across the road toward the building. Their pounding footsteps broke the silence. I lowered my body to the floor, fighting through my nausea to focus on what needed to be done.  

All three bandits got up to their feet and pointed their guns at my new friends. 

“Shoot at the window,” I whispered.  

The familiar sound of gunshots and shattering glass broke the ominous silence. I shot one of the wounded bandits and he collapsed on the dusty floor. One of them jumped through the wide opening and went after the doctor and George.  

I reloaded faster than the next man and fired at him. He dropped to his knees with a pained growl. I gritted my teeth as the animalistic sound shook me to the core. His throat’s terrible gurgling as he struggled to breathe made it obvious that my bullet punctured his lung.  

I reloaded, but he was faster. I stumbled to the side before he shot me. The sudden movement and hard fall sent sharp, throbbing pain through my upper body. 

I crawled back into the other room, panting as I fought to think above the agony. I sat up and flattened my back against the wall. My rival’s labored breathing sounded from the other side. I clenched my jaw, braced myself, and charged through the door, firing a shot at him.  

Burning pain seared my upper arm after a second deafening shot rattled the air. I screamed, but kept my eyes fixed on the enemy. He lay on his back in a pool of blood. 

“How the hell are you real?” he wheezed, holding his stomach. 

He sputtered up blood as he coughed.  

“You’re enjoying this,” he hissed.  

“Not at all. All I want is your last breath.” 

I reloaded, aimed at his skull, and fired.  

“This is for Angel.” 

The silence returned and I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. I examined the new wound on my upper arm with a shaking hand. To my immense relief, the bullet only grazed it. I breathed a quick prayer of thanks to God on the off chance that he was listening.  

I sheathed my pistol into its holster and then stepped outside to find where George, the doctor, and the last bandit had gone off to. 

The street was eerily quiet as I searched for them. For the better part of an hour, I heard nothing other than the crows cawing and the weeds tumbling down the road. When no one showed up, I walked briskly back to the bank so I could doctor my wound as best I could. I threw the front door open with my uninjured arm.  

I glared at the loafers sitting inside like nothing happened. They stared up at the ceiling in a drunken stupor. By the looks of things, alcohol and cigarettes were their only sources of sustenance. They seemed to want to die along with the town. 

“Brandy’s over there,” said one of them between puffs. 

“Well, at least one of you isn’t completely useless,” I muttered. “Anything I could use as a bandage?” 

“This is a bank. Not a hospital.” 

I bristled at their cavalier attitudes in the wake of so many deaths. I could sense the weight of the lost lives thickening the air. It was stifling.  

I braced myself and poured the alcohol over my wound. I yelled as it burned like a red-hot iron.  

I took my pain out on the wall with my fists. Then I drank a few mouthfuls of the brandy. Once the initial shock of pain subsided, I tore off a piece of my shirt and wrapped it around my arm. It would have to do.  

I scanned the faces of the men sitting in the dark room. 

“So, you all decided to twiddle your thumbs in here while an exhausted surgeon and a sixteen-year-old boy risked their lives for me out there?” 

I slammed the door behind me before any of them could reply. My irritation mingled with a sense of doom, numbing the impact of my fresh wound.  

The brandy made my movements careless as I searched again for George and the doctor in abandoned buildings and down dark alleyways. For all I knew, the last bandit had killed them both. I imagined him quietly stalking me, ready to shoot once he had a good view of me.  

I scratched random itches all over my body as a new wave of unease settled over me. I couldn’t handle the mystery anymore. 

“Where the hell are you?” I shouted.  

Only a dry breeze answered me. I removed my hat and stared down the empty street.  

Leaning against the brick wall of a building, I cried in frustration. I did not want to leave, not without knowing what happened to my new friends, but I also did not want to walk into a death trap.   

I broke into a sprint away from the town.  

Startled by my quick approach, the quarter horse reared on his hind legs. 

“Sh. It’s all right,” I said softly.  

I ran my hands up and down his neck to calm myself down as much as him. Once the horse settled, I untied him and lifted myself up into the saddle.  

Looking over my shoulder once more before riding away from the town, I let out a mournful sigh. Had George and the surgeon not provided the distraction, the third bandit likely would have killed me.  

I swallowed hard and focused on the wheat fields as I rode onward. The hazy Missouri sky loomed above me. I rode well into the night, unwilling to risk being held up by anyone. The cool air bit through my clothes, keeping me awake, but I longed to curl up in soft blankets and drift off. Sleep could wait. I would have the rest of eternity to partake in slumber once I killed Max.  

Morning fog covered the plains as the sun began to rise. The scene bore too close of a resemblance to my night terrors.  

Exhausted, I stopped by a creek to allow the horse to drink and rest. I sat on a smooth rock close to the water and watched the tiny rapids. I attempted to keep my eyes open, but instead, I drifted into sleep’s embrace.  

I awoke under the hot sun several hours later to throbbing wounds, a parched throat, and an upset stomach. Recalling that I forgot to tie up my horse before nodding off, I bolted up in a panic. He still grazed close by on the tall grass, which inspired a deep breath of relief from me. At least the animal possessed some loyalty.  

I crawled over to the trickling water and splashed it over my face and neck. I cupped my hands and drank my fill of the cool liquid. As I stood up with a nagging headache, the most unsettling feeling washed over me.  

Chills raced up and down my back as I stepped toward my mount. Another horse’s snort sounded from across the creek, giving away the presence of strangers. My breath caught and what remained of my strength dwindled.  

I turned to face the crick.   

“Who’s there?” I called. 

The cattails swayed as someone made their way through them. I nearly lost my balance as I beheld a thin youth wearing a black bandanna over his mouth. The bandit held a pistol in his grasp.  

I forgot to reload in my earlier deluge of fear and fatigue, so my gun rested snug and useless in its holster.  

I instinctively took a step backward as I waited for him to either speak or shoot me.  

His blue eyes sparkled like the sea on a beautiful day. Eyes could be such deceptive things. He removed the bandanna and I gasped at his familiar face.  

I cried out in relief at the sight of him and broke into a run for the creek, ready to swim across to wrap my arms around him, but the hard look in his eyes stopped me cold.  

“George?” I called.  

“Hello, Mary.” 

My mouth went dry as we stared at one another.  

“I am relieved to see that you are safe and well,” I said, studying the odd expression he wore.  

He crossed the creek, jumping from rock to rock like a spritely child. My mind spun with all sorts of thoughts.  

He froze in place once he reached the other side of the creek. His expression did not soften.  

“Why did you sneak up on me like that?” I cried. “I was worried sick about you after that bandit took off after you.” 

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.” 

“I looked everywhere for you!” 

He smirked.  

“I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you for risking your life for me and the other men out there, but I could not find you for the life of me. I-I thought you were dead.” 

“Aw.”  

I told myself that we could talk it through, but at the sight of his sly grin as he toyed with his gun, my hope plummeted.  

“I find it interesting how you assumed the worst when you saw me,” he said.  

“I did not!” 

“Your eyes give you away every time, Mary.” 

I stared at him, unsure of what to say.  

“I could say the same about you.” 

He took a step toward me.  

“Not all prey has been this fun to chase.” 

“Stop this nonsense,” I said sharply. “We’re friends now.” 

“Are we?” 

“I came back to town. I walked right into the bandits’ refuge. For you.” 

“I know that you think you did.” 

I was losing him.  

“George, I thought you changed. Why are you doing this?” 

“Oh, I did change.” 

“You came to say good-bye to me properly, then?” 

His oddly angled smile was anything but sincere as he took another step closer to me. 

“I came to finish the job.” 

Panic brought my awareness to life. I turned and sprinted for the nearby woods. If I reached the thick trees before he shot me, I could hide away long enough to reload my gun.  

He caught up with me and pushed me forward. I lost my balance and tripped, falling so hard that I puked on impact.  

His laugh intensified the terror that rattled every inch of me as I crawled away. He pounced on me and held me down. I kicked at the air like a fawn in the jaws of a wolf.   

We locked eyes with one another, both stopping to catch our breaths from the struggle.  

“I got a real kick out of you searching all over the town for me. Real touching. Until you left me there for dead.” 

“I told you that I thought you were dead! It was the only reason why I left.” 

“You thought? You couldn’t wait to run out of there once you knew that I was out of the way.” 

“I came back to help you all beat the bandits. I risked my life for you, as you did for me. That is what friends do for one another out here, isn’t it?” 

His face contorted into a scowl while a solitary tear slid down his cheek. He shook his head as I stared into his eyes.  

I lost him.  

“No. You left me there to die,” he said.  

“You keep saying that, but I looked all over for you. Please let go of me so we can talk this through.” 

His crooked grin pierced through my fear, sparking my anger. He let go of me and sat up on his knees. His hand went back to his gun. 

“I’ve grown to hate screaming and begging, so I won’t hurt you. That is a promise I won’t break.” 

“George, listen to me!” 

“This will be quick, my dear Outlaw Mary.” 

“I’m not your dear anything!” 

He chuckled.  

“You want to know what really happened by the river that night?” he asked.  

I shook my head, but he brought me back to the horrible moment with him anyway.  

“My two amigos were gonna throw ya right in that freezing water, but I told them to stop. I figured if you’d survive what we did to you, then you deserved to a second chance. I am the reason why you are still breathing and I am the reason why you will stop.” 

I shook my head.  

“No. It was a kind woman who saved my life. Not you.” 

“I let you go and you came back.” 

“Listen to yourself,” I sneered.  

“I am aware of what I am. The problem, Mary, is that you are not.” 

“What you said in the room. Was that all an act?” 

He cast his gaze heavenward and sighed.  

“Most of it, yes.” 

After hearing the unmistakable click of a cocked hammer, I struggled with the fact that I was about to die. All that I had been through was for nothing. It couldn’t end this way for me. I met his icy irises as he stared down the barrel of his gun. My pathetic trembling transformed into angry shaking.   

“You little shit,” I blurted.  

He hesitated for a split second, long enough for me to deal a swift kick to his face. He fired a clumsy shot to the ground, nearly hitting my shoulder. I threw myself onto him and punched his jaw as hard as I could.  

He kicked me off. I unsheathed my dagger, grabbed onto his belt with one hand, and sliced it with the knife in my other hand. As he ran away, I pulled on his belt, freeing his case of bullets. I loaded my pistol and aimed it at him.  

He slowly lowered his empty gun. 

“Lucky break,” he said.  

I thought I saw a hint of a smirk on his face.  

“You could have just talked to me.” 

He shook his head.  

“I couldn’t let you go when I saw you again. I knew that I had to have you.” 

“Why?” 

He tilted his head.  

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re just as messed up as I am.” 

“Maybe I am, but I only kill those who kill the innocent.” 

“You’re still going to hell like me.” 

I swallowed past the painful lump in my throat. A part of me wished that he would beg me to spare his life. His calm in the face of death drove a chill down my spine. It seemed that he killed for the sake of killing with no thought of his own life, like he was already dead. 

“You’re probably right, but I’ve got business to take care of first,” I said.  

I paced back and forth, unable to think straight.  

“It is better this way, Mary.” 

“It never had to be this way! Life isn’t supposed to be this hard.” 

“I used to say that,” he said.  

I eyed him through a veil of tears. They stung my eyes like brandy being poured on a fresh wound. There had to be another way to deal with him, but as I searched my wildest imaginings, I could not find it. He’d never leave me alone if I let him go. He slowly won my trust like a skilled predator, even risking his life to demonstrate the illusion of friendship.  

He averted his gaze.  

“As I said before, God must have a plan for you. You shouldn’t be alive right now.” 

I threw my hands in the air.  

“I know!” 

I braced myself against the grief of doing what needed to be done. There was no other way. He would always come after me while he still breathed.  

“It is unkind to draw this out,” he said.  

As we stared at one another for the last time, all that I could see was an unhinged boy. Perhaps in another time and place, he might have found his healing, but the Wild West was cruel to the broken and the foolish.  

I longed with every fiber of my being to spare him, silently begging God to intervene if it was his will for George to live, but only a warm breeze answered me as it whispered across the tall grass prairie.   

I choked back a sob. 

“This will be quick,” I said. “I promise.” 

“I’ll haunt your dreams,” he hissed. “I will never let you forget this moment no matter how far you run.” 

Time stood still as I stared into the hypnotizing eyes of the boy-monster. Then I took in a lungful of air and focused on his forehead.  

“Do it,” he taunted. “End my life so that my soul can stalk you forever.” 

I steadied my aim, ensuring that I would not miss my mark.  

I fired.  

At the sound of his limp body dropping to the ground, I turned away and stared at the crimson sunset. Hugging myself, I stared at the bleeding sky and wept. Even the heavens mourned for the wayward boy lying dead in the grass.  

I should have buried him, but the thought of seeing and touching him brought bile to my throat. Without looking at him, I stepped over to his side and picked up his gun. I put it in my saddlebag, mounted my horse, and rode away.  

I imagined a restless spirit rising from his young corpse, but spirits had no power over the living.  

…. to be continued

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