(TW: Mentions of death and blood)
Getting framed for murder is easy when there's people who wish to see you fall. When you think there’s a moment of rest in your life, there’s always someone trying to put it back into disarray.
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Thomas' eye twitched slightly, but his body remained stiff. The older man sitting in front of him took a slow drag of his cigarette before letting out a sigh from the depths of his soul. In the beautiful sunny town of Mayfields, the beloved Mayor Joseph Sinclair had been found dead in his office by his nephew. Who in their right mind would murder an honest, kind, hardworking man? Sheriff Cob's eyes were cold, as though this news did not phase him in the slightest.
“Do you know who did it?” Thomas asked, a sense of urgency in his tone. The look Cobs gave him already told him what he needed to know, but he wanted to hear it from his mouth.
“Yes, but..” The sheriff paused for a moment. “He ruffed up my boys, and fled town before we could jail him.” The bounty hunter’s face changed from calm to irritation. They let him get away? Before he could get another word in, Cobs continued “If you want more information I highly recommend asking the family.”
There was a weird feeling welling up in his chest— he couldn’t decipher if it was more akin to anger or sadness. He kept his face stone-cold and tipped his hat to the sheriff as he left. He mounted his horse and headed toward his answer…
The Sinclair Property was a beautiful place— a big white house with a wrap around porch which sat on a hundred acres of land. Trees lined the pathway to the house and the flowerbeds were full of white bellflowers. Where Thomas used to feel its warm welcome, he was instead greeted with sorrow. Dismounting Bones, he walked onto the porch and gently knocked on the door.
A small woman cracked open the door, her face filled with shock.
“Mr. Graves! What a pleasant surprise. Mrs. Sinclair didn’t notify me of your visit.” She stepped to the side to let him.
“Mhm, is she home at the moment?” He asked as he passed the threshold, the familiar smell of pine tickling his nose. The house was the same as the last time he visited.
“The lady is out at the moment.”
The bounty hunter nodded and asked, “Is the nephew here by chance?”
The little servant woman nodded and motioned him to follow her to the upstairs portion of the house. The house was unusually quiet, which Thomas would usually prefer, but this was a different sort of silence. This one felt eerie, carrying the sensation of being watched. After ascending the stairs, they walked down the long hallway where the walls were decorated; the floor had a ugly brown rug that did not match with the theme of the house and was accompanied by the sound of that squeaky loose floor board that Joseph refused to fix because ‘it gave the house character’. At the end of the hall was Mr. Sinclair's office; the servant knocked lightly.
The door opened. Behind it was a young man with brunet hair sitting in Mr. Sinclair's chair. His eyes widened as he stood.
“Thomas! I didn’t know you were visiting. You usually send a letter.” The bounty hunter stepped in and the door closed behind him.
“Well... I was just stopping by and heard the news,” Thomas paused, “...I’m sorry for your loss.” As he looked around the room, the office felt different but he couldn’t place what was off about it.
“Thank you, It’s been hard watching my aunt grieve.” His sympathetic words felt empty, and that struck a nerve.
“Do you know the culprit?”
The man chuckled as he sat back down “Straight to business as usual.” He leaned back in the large leather chair, his posture revealing the ego boost the seat provided.
“You know how I am Stephan, get to the point.”
A small scowl broke out across his face as he began to speak, “That barbaric farmer, Kody.”
There was a hint of distaste when he uttered that name. Thomas vaguely recognized the name; he would occasionally tip his hat to the fellow when they crossed paths.“Can you recall what occurred that day?” Thomas said, his foot slightly tapping from impatience. Stephen took a moment to recall the day of his uncle's murder.
“Uncle was having his yearly meeting with him. They update their contract every year; if nothing needs to be changed, they’d have a drink together.” The memory began to form and appear back into Stephen’s mind.
Stephan sat at his wooden desk, scattered with papers and surrounded by stacked literature. His back was hunched as he wrote, his quill gliding against the paper black ink bleeding with each swift movement of his wrist. Servants passing by his door held light conversation. It was a peaceful, sunny afternoon, filled with clear spring skies.He placed the quill down, and stretched his arms. Being cooped up in his room clouded his thinking. He took a step into the hallway, staring at the artwork on the wall and despising the ugly brown rug his uncle had chosen. Passing his uncle's office, he heard his voice but his words were muffled.
He paused on top of the stairs, looking in the direction from which the sound came from. At first he didn’t think much of it, probably his uncle being his clumsy self. He continued towards the stairs.
There was a second thud. It sounded heavier than the first one. Something wasn’t right; he felt it in his chest. Without a second thought he dashed back toward the office and barged in. The door swung open and crimson red entered his vision along with the pungent scent of iron. There laid his uncle’s lifeless body, bleeding out as the bloodied killer stood over him. Their eyes met and it was as though time stopped for a brief moment, his cold black eyes staring directly through his soul...
“I screamed; he pushed past me and escaped.” Stephan’s voice shook slightly, relieving the horror of witnessing his uncle's murder. Thomas felt a vague sense of sympathy toward Stephan; nobody deserved to witness the death of a loved one.
“Alright, here’s what I’m gonna do,” the bounty hunter leaned against the table. “How much to capture him?”
“You heard me, I’m not going to repeat myself.” Thomas said sternly.
Stephan’s eyes narrowed before he let out a small scoff, he crossed his legs and scooted further back into the chair. “One million, and bring him back alive.” He watched the bounty hunter's face go from stone cold to a mischievous smirk.
A simple job. Find the culprit and bring him back. Thomas turned on his heels,and headed out the office.
Outside of the Sinclair home, he straddled Bones and lightly pressed his boot into the horse's side, leading them back onto the dirt path.
