#cathedralofdust

Riley’s been busy, that’s why she doesn’t know, why she hadn’t heard, why she hasn’t heard until she hears him. And when she does, her world scatters off of its axis. All of a sudden she’s seventeen again, and he is the quiet, solid focus in a monsoon of chaos and violence. And all of a sudden again, she is forty years old, and she would swear to it in front of any judge in the courthouse that she heard Raylan Givens’ voice.

There is a very old pain that is gnarled and scarred in the middle of her chest as she slowly turns. And maybe in this hallway there’s only a handful of people, but she would know him even in a crowded amphitheater. Her mind startles at the signs that he had gotten older, just like she had. The tilt of his shoulders is the same. 

He stands taller than he used to.

He’s by himself. And she walks over. It’s somehow very simple.

“Raylan Givens, as I live and breathe.”

“It’s a mighty small world.”

So she stays behind the bar, pours drinks, cleans up after customers, and says “yes, Mr. Crowder.” There are worse things.

It’s a slow fall afternoon, cool enough that she’s not suffering in the still air inside. She does get a chill when the door opens, and she turns around with a smile that’s only mostly fake. Damn, she’s tired.

“If you’re lookin’ for Boyd, he ain’t here right now. He probably won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“You left!” she accuses, shrill and trembling, old pain searing behind her rib cage. “You got out and I got left in that hellhole,” she cringes at the scrape in her voice, “and you -- you knew or should have known.” She can’t bear to tell him what. Not even in the relative privacy of an emptied-out room.

She drops her head into her hands and can’t look at him. “I...”

“Aint happenin’ huh. Well then, how about we extend it to somethin’ that can?” He pulls in a sharp, deep breath then, only to push it out heavy with a brief raise of his right eyebrow.

Tensions were already high. What’s more, he doesn’t know why. His previous comment was made with no reason, towards nothing either of them have said, other than there’s more silence than not lately.

He’s never had such quiet dreams before. Are theirs supposed to be this quiet?

“Ready ‘r not, offer still stands.”