#entries;interaction

The guards changing shifts told the passage of time, it was the same man every week at this time.

But today, instead of going to his post, he stopped at the door of his cell as another two sets of footsteps followed after. The door was opened and a blond man was escorted in. He stared dumbfounded as the clink of restraints removed and the door locking behind bounced as an echo off the walls. The Chelsea smile still raw from new scar tissue on the right side of his face, reminded him of a time he still had more fight left in him. Talking to other inmates was not allowed.

The cells had only room for one.

He leaned onto the uncomfortable armrest of the chair in a small Saint Denis cafe with a disgruntled expression. Despite that, his posture was easy and relaxed as he swiftly turned the pages on the day’s paper, eyes scanning over uninteresting headlines only stopping when he reached the latest reviews from the Râleur. He let out an exaggerated sigh, “Oh please Jean, tell me it hasn’t been this stale the entire time I was gone”. He folded the paper messily and tossed it to the edge of the small round table where he had found it, “How could anyone bear living in this town like this?” 

He settled back into the seat, chin resting on one hand while he reached to stir his coffee with the other. He turned his focus fully on the man in front, offering him one of his sultry charming smiles from under his brow, “You are the traveling type, Jean, if I remember right. Tell me what you have been up to, something exciting, hmmm?” he urged with a raise of his brows.

He had to rise to his tippy toes to capture them in a kiss. He could tell that the other was nervous, even though he opened up so beautifully to let Hugo explore his mouth while his hand rubbed soothing circles at the back of his neck. He pulled back slightly, enough to move his hand to cup the other’s cheek and guide him to meet his eyes. "This okay?" he asked softly.

“Because it gives me t’warm wiggly feelins in my gut-” Winters started then clicked his tongue with a quick roll of his eyes. “Why do you think? If we’re going in there-” he jabbed a finger at the mine shaft- “-the deepest pits of hell, where it looks like an endless void of death… No doubt there being a reason it was abandoned I’m sure-” he huffed, “-then I’m going t’hold yer hand.” His eyes focused on his current companion. “Less likely to lose one another and all that.” He quickly added with a nod of his head.

"Well..." he said letting his gaze fall down to look Winters from under his lashes while the corners of his eyes wrinkled and a smile tugged on his lips, "You could have just left it on that first part," he wiggled his brows then giggled and bumped his shoulder against the other. His gaze found the entrance of the mine shaft, then he looked back at Winters and held his gaze for a moment before leaning in to whisper, "Did you know that the miners trapped in weren't actually killed by suffocation nor thirst or hunger—, it was scorpions," he whispered louder to put emphasis on the word, "Hundreds of them, coming from the walls," he nodded a few times, his eyes big. His credibility might have been dampened by him explaining just a few hours earlier that the miners had instead been mauled by bears. “They say you can still hear their cries if you listen carefully at the spot where the tunnel collapsed,” there was a conspiratorial glint in his eye as he squeezed Winters’ hand and began pulling him towards the entrance, “So let’s go hear what they have to say,” he grinned.

“You want to find them, do you not?” the girl asked with a smile. They were back in Annesburg of all places, seated at a table in the saloon. In front of them sat Grace Jacobs, the daughter of the lawman found in the pond at the edge of town only a few months earlier.

There was an eerie serenity to her, absolute stillness. Her eyes were kind yet they weren’t really focused on them but somewhere far beyond. Bishop glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye and the one look shared between them was enough to confirm their feelings on the situation. She had walked right into the tavern and straight to their table. This girl, this crucial piece of the case that had sent them chasing their tails across three states, was now offering to take them to their prize, the Thomas brothers.

———

They knew they were coming. 

This was a trap or an ambush, that much Bishop was sure of. They had been close in Blackwater, so close that Bishop had wanted to laugh when the next morning from Aeron’s nighttime visit, they had found a hastily abandoned camp barely an hour’s walk away from them. But a trail that fresh was easy to follow and it had led them straight back to Annesburg where they had started.

Grace’s hands were gripping the back of Ouija’s saddle behind him while Quint was riding ahead. The girl had been quiet most of the way, just humming an eerily familiar tune between giving the necessary directions. The corners of his mouth must have been stuck in a downward turned, uneasy expression most of the way. So many questions with answers he wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to know burning in his mind.

“Did he kill your father?” he asked finally, his voice quiet.

The girl went very still behind him. She was silent for a moment, then let out a small sigh, “No he didn’t, I did”.

Bishop’s brow furrowed, “Why?”

“My father was a good man, he raised me well and I loved him very much… but he hadn’t seen god the way I have. He didn’t understand and wanted to take me away,” she placed her hand on his bicep and stroked gentle patterns with her thumb. “I didn’t mean to kill him, it was an accident”.

The sun was shining and the air was crisp and fresh, still it did nothing to mask the sense of dread that seemed to always lurk somewhere just beneath the surface in Roanoke Ridge. Bishop let the silence hang as he urged Ouija into a trot to catch up with his brother.

———

They had spotted the Thomas brothers from the steep hill on the other side of the river. Bishop counted four people through the scope of his rifle, two of them he did not recognize but by their location, he could guess they were preparing for a baptism. 

His brother had a reckless tendency of rushing into a fight while Bishop preferred a more stealthy approach. Maybe it was the firmness he rarely directed at Quint that made him still and actually listen to him. The Thomas brothers were not ones to be underestimated and they needed to approach this situation with utmost caution. They hatched a plan out of Grace’s earshot and continued from their location on two different paths to approach the brothers from different directions.