Disclaimer: All the characters from the "Magnificent Seven" T.V. series are property of Trilogy Entertainment, The Mirisch Group, MGM Worldwide.
Vin took a swig of whisky from a bottle as he sat outside the saloon watching and waiting.
It was three days ago that he had been in the same place, passing the time, hating to be trapped in amber while Chris testified against Smiling Pete in the courthouse across the street. It was only three days ago since everything had gone to hell with his disappearance. Three days while they searched the countryside, in every small town and hole in the wall settlement they could think of, trying to find some trace of their leader only to find nothing. Vin had pushed himself harder and traveled farther than any of the seven because he could not rest knowing that Chris was out there because he had failed to watch his back at a time when the gunslinger had needed him most.
He knew he was being ridiculous. That it was not really his fault that Chris had been kidnapped. Vin could not have perceive the real threat that Laurel Chase had posed to him, no matter how much unease he had felt. However even though the words were repeated to him by both Alex and the other members of the seven, they did not sink in and he was still left with this feeling of failure that would not go away until he found what had happened to Chris.
More specifically what was happening to him now.
Vin swallowed the amber liquid in his mouth, allowing it to warm him as he continued his vigil, hoping that it would at least dull the edge of his memory enough for him to forget the look in Mary's eyes when he told her that Chris was missing. It was not the first time Chris Larabee had been in trouble. Two years ago, it was Mary who had raised the alarm when a trip by Chris had turned out to be a hellish tenure in a prison as Inmate 78 until the seven freed him. However, she took the news with surprising calm, remaining strong as only Mary Travis Larabee was capable while inside, her heart was bleeding with anguish. Vin had promised he would bring Chris back to her and he did not break his promises.
"Mr Tanner," Ezra Standish broke the silence as he sat next to the tracker, watching the movements through town with just as much scrutiny although with considerably less intensity. "This is not your fault."
"I was there," Vin replied shortly, his eyes still fixed on the street, always watching. "I should have seen it coming."
"How?" Ezra questioned. "You had no way of knowing that the lady was a danger to Mr Larabee. It was he who allowed her into his room, not you. What happened then was unfortunate but nothing that could have been preventable had you the foresight to know that the lady was in mind to kidnap Mr Larabee."
"This ain't no time for a man to be missing from home." Vin pointed out. "Mary needs him now more than ever and thanks to me, God only knows where he is. If he is even still alive."
"Thinking like that will not aid our situation, Vin." Ezra declared firmly.
That drew a reaction from Vin as he met Ezra's eyes briefly. The gambler seldom used first names and did so only when he was trying to make a point as a friend. "You're right." Vin frowned, hating to admit that truth but it still nagged at him. "I just got a real bad feeling about this Ezra," Vin confessed for the first time to anyone. "I don't know what it is but I keep thinking that if we don't find him soon, we may never find him at all."
"The circumstances of his disappearance are strange," Ezra had to admit. "However, Mr Larabee has many enemies in his past of which we are unaware, Miss Chase may be employed by any number of them if indeed she was the culprit."
"She was the one all right," Vin retorted because of that he had no doubt. It was one of the few things he could say with absolute certainty. "I know it."
Suddenly, the rumble of horses approaching the centre of town captured the attention of both men as they immediately averted their eyes to the source of the commotion. The stage coached tore through the heart of Vesta City, which was clear and sunny today, devoid of the dust storm of three days ago that had hindered Vin's efforts so greatly when he had been attempting to ascertain which direction those who had taken Chris had gone. Having found nothing during their search in the last two days, Vin had chosen to return to Vesta City since it appeared that the stagecoach driver who had brought Miss Chase to the town when he and Chris were here was the only viable lead they had.
Despite what the driver had told Mr Bishop at the stage depot about having to take passengers onward from Vesta City, Vin did not believe that was the case. In order to move Chris, Laurel would have most likely utilised the wagon and horses that had been purchased from the livery stable. Vin could not imagine the woman risking discovery by attempting to leave Vesta City with Chris in the stagecoach. Vin stood from the step of that he and Ezra had been occupying and glanced at the gambler.
"Get Buck." Vin replied, his eyes never moving away from the quarry as the stage came to a halt in front of the local hotel.
Ezra nodded and hurried into the saloon as Vin strode across the street, keeping his gaze fixed on the man who was presently disembarking from his perch at the front of the stage before fronting the carriage in order to get the door for his passengers. The stage driver was a man in his late forties with a weathered face, a balding hair and a bulbous nose that sat above a thick moustache that was graying like the rest of him. His offsider clambered onto the roof and was beginning the process of unloading the luggage for those whose journey has come to a close. He did not see Vin as the sharpshooter approached him from behind.
Without giving the man any warning, Vin grabbed hold of his elbow and spun him around.
"What the hellÉ" he started to swear as Vin forced him against the side of the carriage, in no mind for making small talk as he unloaded his Winchester and shoved it into the lump of the man's Adam's apple.
"What's going on?" The other on the top of the stage demanded as nervous passengers began filtering out from the other side of the carriage.
"Nothing that you need concern yourself about." Ezra Standish remarked smoothly as he and Buck Wilmington closed in on Vin and the driver. "If you consider attending to your duties as you were," he said slickly, "I am sure we will not be detaining your companion for much longer."
The man was about to protest but when he saw the guns carried not only by the gambler but his taller companion who was wearing a scowl just as deeply as his moustache. Deciding to give it up all together, he nervously resumed the task of unloading luggage once again.
Ezra and Buck took up flanking positions next to Vin and his prey before Buck said with a cool smile. "He's all yours Vin."
Vin tipped his hat at the lawman before he turned his steely blue eyes on the driver, who by now was becoming extremely anxious over the gun that was held so closely to his skin.
"I got some questions for you," Vin said in the maddeningly cool voice of his that did more to unnerve his prey than the Winchester he handled so formidably. "You answer them, you walk free. You don't, I put you down here and now. We understand each other?" He asked.
The driver swallowed hard and nodded in response, not about to argue the point with a Winchester aimed at him.
"Good," Vin replied. "Three days ago, you came to town. You brought a woman and Chinaman with you on the stage?"
The driver's eyes widened in recognition immediately and Vin supposed that was understandable, neither Laurel Chase nor Mr Zhang was very hard to miss or to forget.
"You know who I'm talking about." Vin answered, catching the look of familiarity over those he was asking after. "Where did you take them after they left here."
"To the next stop." The man said anxiously, licking his lips as he responded. Vin shifted his gaze to Ezra who shook his head ever so slightly, which was indication that he agreed with Vin's assertion that the man was lying.
"I'd tell a better story than that." Buck said helpfully having made the same deduction as much ease. "My friend here has an itchy trigger finger and you wouldn't want to see what happens to a skull when that gun goes off."
His eyes widened ever further upon that suggestion and he stared at Vin, trying to decide if the tracker would be crazed enough to carry out that threat. Just to verify that he was, Vin pulled back the lever action trigger just a little further, the metal creaking as he added pressure upon it.
"What do you want to know?" He asked, his voice little more than a squeak when he finally chose not to take the gamble.
"The woman and her friend," Vin repeated himself. "Where did you take them?"
"I didn't take them anyway after they got here," the man exclaimed after a moment, not all happy to make that revelation but given the choice of being shot to the death here and facing the wrath of the Chinaman at a much later date, he would take the latter. "They paid me a hundred dollars to say that I took them on. I don't know how they left Vesta City."
Vin exchanged glances with Ezra and Buck, since the man's words more or less confirmed what he had suspected all along. "Okay," Vin said quietly. "I believe you on that score so let's see if you can do better with my next question."
"Jesus Mister!" The man implored, terrified of being coerced into supplying information in this way. The Chinaman was not someone he wanted to meet in his nightmares and he was certain that if the news reached the oriental of where the tracker had got his information, then he would be done for. "He'll kill me if I keep talking to you."
"He ain't here," Vin hissed automatically. "I am and I'll kill you right now if you don't." He retorted, jamming the gun barrel in the driver's throat and drawing a raspy cough from the man.
Buck and Ezra stood by, watching dispassionately as the man suffered his interrogation. Around them, some people were watching the exchange, others moved on to avoid becoming embroiled in any forming danger while in the nearby distance, Sheriff McMasters stood watch, ensuring that this did not go any further since Vin had informed him earlier what the lawmen from Four Corners had intended. McMasters who knew and respected Chris Larabee had allowed them free license to get the information leading to the whereabouts of the gunslinger, within reason of course.
"Where did you pick them up?" Vin asked. If he did not have a destination for the lady's progress from Vesta City then he would have to backtrack along her journey, hopefully explaining where she had originated from in the first place.
"At Calumet." The man responded meekly. Any effort that might have remained in him to keep silent about what he knew had dissolved now. What he had already told the tracker was enough to get him killed, a little more was not going to carry much weight to change that outcome.
"What were you doing at Calumet?" Ezra stepped into the fray now, recognising the name quite well. "It is hardly a stopover for the stage."
"It was a detour." The driver answered. "Someone paid the stage to stop there, it was one of those under the table deals between me and the depot master. We split the money to make a stop at Calumet to pick up the woman and the Chinaman."
"You better not be lying to me," Vin declared, pressing the gun into his throat to produce another series of coughs from the man, just to make his point.
"I ain't lying!" He shouted out desperately, tears running down his eyes as he tried to speak through his hacking. "I swear!" He implored once again, wishing to be away from this crazed mountain man with the unreadable blue eyes and well placed Winchester.
"Alright," Vin let him go, believing the driver was just terrified enough to be telling him the whole truth. Upon releasing the man, the driver quickly pushed past Buck and Ezra, determined to put enough distance between himself and his interrogator by making straight for the saloon. Vin watched him go and decided that what he had put the man through was reason enough for him to get a drink.
"Okay," Vin regarded the others. "I guess we're taking a ride to Calumet." He said with a hint of uncertainty. Despite himself, the information garnered from the driver did give him cause for concern. The Texan thought he was familiar with most of the towns in the Territory. As a bounty hunter, he had reason to travel through most of the smaller towns in the region and the bigger ones were known by reputation. There were always the little watering holes known only to outlaws and Vin had a sense of those too. However, Calumet was a name he had not heard before and that was a little surprising.
"Ezra," he remarked as the trio walked away from the stage now that their business there was done. "You sounded like you knew this Calumet." Vin looked at the gambler.
"Well I know of it." Ezra confessed, admitting the emergence of that name had surprised him somewhat. "In truth, I hardly believed it even existed but some of my more successful colleagues had confessed to sampling its delights on occasion."
"Is it a town?" Buck asked because like Vin, he had never heard of the place either.
"Not in the true sense of the word." Ezra tried to explain, remembering what scant information had been imparted to him about its locality. "It's meant to be two days ride from here. I am told it is not quite a town or a community as such but rather like a collection of gambling houses and bordellos. Consider it a more refined version of Wickestown. Those who claim to have come from there were most sated individuals since almost everything in the place is catered for those who are willing to pay handsomely for their pleasures, no matter what it is. I suppose if one must put a term to it, Calumet is the playground of sinful pleasures."
"Sinful pleasures?" Buck looked at the gambler as they made their way to the livery in order to ride to this fabled place.
"Anything your hearts desire, if you can pay for it." Ezra declared. "Whatever vice, no matter how unsavory or bizarre, they say that Calumet meets those needs."
"How does a place like that exist without anyone knowing about it?" Vin asked, unable to believe that what was starting to sound like a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah was able to function without the interference of the law.
"Well if the entertainment's provided there are as expensive as they are, I am certain the individual who runs it is not incapable of bribing the correct officials from turning a blind eye. If no one is being harmed, a bureaucrat might find it a most agreeable arrangement." Ezra remarked and Vin supposed that such a thing was not impossible. Lawmen were just as susceptible to the lure of riches as the next person. There was no reason to believe that wearing a badge removed the seeds of avarice.
"So we can't be sure if Laurel Chase is from Calumet or was just on her way home after doing who knows what up there." Buck frowned, disliking the fact that their only lead was centred around a place that would be extremely difficult for them to penetrate.
"It's a place to start." Vin pointed out. "Maybe somebody down there knows who she is. At the moment, all we got is a name, nothing else. The judge is running a check on her but that's going to take time and I don't know how much of it Chris has left."
"Are we making our journey alone?" Ezra inquired, referring of course to the rest of their number who was still in Four Corners, keeping an eye on things while the three of them searched for Chris.
"Not yet." Vin said after a moment's consideration. "Let's see what we're up against when we get to Calumet. Could be just like Buck says, she may have been passing through. No reason to bring Josiah, Nathan and JD out that way until we're sure where Chris is."
"Well," Ezra said with a sigh. "One thing we will need if we go to Calumet is money. If the place is as exclusive as I have been led to believe, we will not learn anything without an adequate supply of pin money. Unfortunately, what I have in my boot will hardly suffice nor what I believe you gentlemen have in the bank for your ranching venture." Ezra who had been doing the accounting for the Lucky 7 horse ranch which was jointly owned by Chris, Vin and Buck was in a better position to make that determination that its two principals.
"That ain't a problem," the tracker said evasively.
"Oh you got a gold mine somewhere?" Buck retorted with a raised brow.
"Not exactly," Vin cleared his throat, not wishing to divulge the resource he had at his disposal even though he did not like to use it. However, if they were going to Calumet when money was needed in abundance, he supposed he did not have a choice, he would have to utilise it just this once.
"Come on," Buck nudged him the ribs, unable to keep himself from ribbing the tracker when he got all cryptic like this. The man was so damn uncomfortable that Buck simply delighted in the look of discomfiture on that normally unflappable mask. "What is it."
"Yes Mr Tanner," Ezra was now staring at him with just as much curiosity. "Do tell how you intend overcoming this particular hurdle."
Vin frowned and decided he had no choice but to come out and say it. "Well I did marry a girl with money you know and cause Alex has my name, I can use some of her money when I need it. Don't particularly like to but seeing that we don't have much choice I guess I'm gonna have to. All I got to do is wire the bank in Four Corners and they'll tell the Vesta City bank to let us have what we need."
"Well alright," Buck grinned, patting Vin on the back. "Who'd thought our boy would marry so well."
"Knock it off," Vin grumbled, hating the entire subject.
"Mr Tanner," Ezra chuckled, enjoying Vin's chagrin to no end. "I had no idea you were such a fortune hunter."
Predictably, Vin swung at him.
He woke up that morning and had trouble remembering his wife's name was Mary or Sarah.
He had remembered sitting up in his bed in a cold sweat; beads of sweat snaking down his body as he wondered where the memory had disappeared to in his mind. How could he make such a mistake? Sarah was gone; she had died so long ago and had taken a good part of him with her. Then came Mary, Mary who was his reason for being, the impetus that made him believe that his life was not over, merely turning a new leaf. Chris struggled to think clearly but his mind was a fog and he had difficulty remembering other things too. Important things began to fade, things he was trying desperately to cling to. Like a boy child whose name was...was it Adam or Billy?
Instead of spending his time escaping his cell, Chris was now more focussed on keeping his memories of the people he knew. Mary remained clearest in his mind even though some times she faded away and was replaced by Sarah. Whenever he lapsed that way, Chris would immediately look at his wedding ring because the band of gold also reminded him of Mary and it was Mary most of all that he was trying to keep. There were moments of perfect clarity when he would remember them all and the feeling of angry rage at wanting to escape confinement would wither away. Then there were other moments, dark and hazy when he recalled nothing but a memory of golden hair shimmering in the sunlight.
He did not want to forget them and he could not understand what was happening to him!
His mind was the most formidable tool it had and yet it kept slipping away out of his reach and he knew it was because of something she was doing to him. She, being Laurel Chase, with her poisoned words about the killer inside of him, the one that would kill indiscriminately if he let down his guard. Chris knew he was not a killer, a hunter, yes but not a killer. There was a difference. A part of him understood the game she was playing, the part that still had its wits albeit temporarily it would seem these days.
Chris knew what she wanted of him by her endless taunts and her clever dissection of his psyche. She wanted him to fight in her Arena, like some beast of burden for a paying audience and he was using every ounce of will he could muster to avoid becoming what she wanted no matter how strongly the urge was building up inside of him. The only times he was let out of his cage, he would not call his room, was when the debacle of the gladiatorial games she had inspired took place. She would have him watch every fight, see every blow thrown in order to convince him that he could cross into the ring and become a champion like no other.
Initially, the idea disgusted him for he could see nothing more revolting that beating another man to death simply for the pleasure of entertaining dilettantes who had more money than they had sense or moral fibre. However, as he saw the punches being traded and the sheer pageantry of animal power being displayed within the ring, Chris began to understand the attraction for those watching. In its own way it was hypnotic, as if one was being privy to forces of natures battling it out on neutral ground. Despite himself, he began to look forward to his outings from his cell and more disturbingly, the presence of Laurel Chase coming into his room.
He began to want her even though he hated her.
Despite his growing desire for her, the thoughts of violence that she had engendered in him terrified Chris Larabee to the core. Never in his life had he thought forcing a woman was acceptable behaviour. A man who had to take a woman by force was not a man and yet the images had imprinted themselves on his brain. When he closed his eyes and went to sleep, he dreamt about it with stark clarity until he woke up screaming. The nightmares had appeared almost from the very first night of his incarceration and while they were nowhere as terrifying as the possibility of forgetting his wife Sarah, no Mary, Chris could not imagine why they had visited him with such regularity.
He could feel it burning under his skin, this animalistic urge that would not be denied, that whispered in his ears with every waking moment until he would be driven to smash things again, just to feel some measure of peace. The destruction was somewhat liberating allowed him to vent the full torrent of rage that bubbled inside him with growing turmoil. It was more than the need for Laurel that was becoming unbearable the scent of blood when he watched the games, its salt soaked into his skin and lingered in his lungs long after the fighting was done.
He became tantalising by the brutal power of the arena and he began to envision what he might do if he were forced to take the centre stage within the ring. He wondered what it was like hear the crowd exulting in his names as he indulged a part of himself, a part of every man buried deep beneath ten thousand years of civilisation at a time when it was just him and the elements. Something primeval and naked was being surfaced inside him slowly and surely, without his understanding how it was possible to lose control when he had been so in command of it all his life. Yet there was an attraction with being able to feel unashamedly, allowing all those pent up emotions, the anger, the rage and all the passion that he fought so hard to keep under control to finally taste freedom.
Without even knowing how it had happened, Chris Larabee started wanting to fight.
The more Laurel brought him to the arena, the more he became intoxicated with its fever. He fought it as hard as he could without understanding how much the deck was stacked against him to begin with, never realising for one moment that the battle had been lost, long before he had even begun to fight it.
The roar of the crowd called to him like a siren song, heightening his senses and making him aware of all the blood that was pounding in his veins. He could hear each viscous gurgle of fluid surging through him as he stepped into the ring the first time, looking up at the faces above him, all curious as to how this newest acquisition would perform. To his audience, he did not seem much like a fighter at first appearance, being unusually handsome, with muscles that ran in smooth lines and possessing the singularity of soul that drew the light when he gazed at them with his dead eyes.
Chris Larabee did not know what he had been thinking when he had agreed to participate in his first combat to the death, aware only that he had yearned so much for the taste of battle, that it had become too tempting to resist. A voice inside of him, one blurred by the obscurity that seemed to plague his mind of late, tried speaking to him through the loud din of noise that rumbled throughout the amphitheater. He looked up and saw their faces, barely capable of telling one from another, knowing that in their finery of expensive clothes and jewels were mere shadows of what a human was supposed to be.
His intense coloured eyes surveyed the crowd as they coiled around him like a serpent, strangulating him with their cheers, like a snake that was eating its tail. Their cheers soon settled down and he realised that it was not for him that they cheered but rather his opponent. He glanced at the small entrance to the ring and saw the enemy approaching. He was man much larger than Chris, with thick arms, broad chest and was the kind that probably once felled wood a living. Chris studied the face, the eyes and recognised the same vacancy he was noticing in the mirror when he took the time to observe his reflection.
Bare chested with his fists wrapped tight for the business of fighting, for in this game a man's hands were his tools and despite the brutality of what they were about to engage in, the provisions for the next fight had to be made by this simple little precaution. He glanced at his own hands and saw the same bandages, trying to remember why he was wearing them again and for that matter what had inspired him to do this.
This is wrong.
The voice spoke as if mustering every once of strength that remained.
Do this and you'll prove she was right, that you are killer.
She. Chris looked up and searched for her, feeling that glazed split in his chest suddenly become one as he found her. She was looking down at him, wearing a smile he knew without doubt was just for him. Her blue eyes sparkled with something he could not quite grasp, a look he could almost consider satisfied and he felt himself swelling with pride knowing that he pleased her. Strange that he ought to feel that way, Chris thought.
Didn't he hate her before?
Didn't he hate her still?
He could not tell for certain, only knowing that he liked looking at her. He liked the certainty of knowing that when she smiled at him, it was for purposes other than just an expression of pleasure. She cared for him. Of course she did, Chris told himself even though that annoying voice inside his head was skeptical of this fact. In truth, it was almost scornful of his weakness. How could she be considered a weakness, she with the shimmering gold hairÉ
Not, not gold hair. Where had that come from?
That was silly, he told himself once he discarded the stray thought. She did not have gold hair, she had dark hair, mahogany like the finest wood and the deepest shade of brown that was almost red. She wanted him and if he won for her, she would be his.
You don't want her.
Chris closed his eyes because he did not want to hear that voice. He pushed it father back into the dark recesses of his mind, banishing it there forever as he turned around and faced his opponent as the crowd dulled into silence and he stared at man who stood much taller than him and looked like someone else he knew. Then he remembered. Buck. This man looked like Buck, possessing that same moustache but nowhere the same charm. He glowered at Chris, hunching forward slightly positioning himself to attack.
Buck would not attack him. None of the seven would. The seven. The number lingered in his mind for a spell and with it came images of camaraderie and feelings of contentment. There should have been someone watching his back and instinctively, he looked over his shoulder and wondered why Vin was not there. He did not have much time to ponder the question for no sooner than he had looked behind him, he felt a body barreling into him and sent him sprawling backwards. The crowd exploded with a deafening roar as he hit the ground, swirling around him like water being poured into a glass.
He felt the grit tear at his elbows and his bare back before a hand grabbed him by the neck and started to lift him off the ground. As he felt the intense pressure compressing the walls of his throat, he reached for the arms that held him in order to keep his neck from snapping. Pulling his legs inward, he kicked both of them out hard, the heels of both feet slamming into a chest that was not his. He heard a sharp exhale of pain before he was dropped to the ground once more. He made contact with the dirt long enough to roll quite comfortably onto his haunches and contemplated the prey for a moment before he lunged forward.
Barely giving his opponent time to recover, Chris crossed the space between them into easy strides and punched the man in the throat, immediately sending both the enemy's hands to his neck as he began to gasped in pain. Taking advantage of the man's distraction, Chris delivered another crippling blow, this time to the soft flesh above his kidney and watched his opponent let out another cry of pain. The strike to his throat had done exactly what Chris had anticipated and knew it was possible he might have crushed the enemy's windpipe.
Finish this quickly.
That inner voice commanded him with almost weary patience and for once Chris was pleased to oblige. He kicked his foot into back of the enemy's knee, bringing him down immediately. The large hulk of a man dropped to the ground on one knee as he attempted to put up some semblance of a fight. He lashed wildly at Chris as he went down and Chris circled him slowly, aware that his eyes were filled with tears from his inability to breathe. Despite his efforts to fight, Chris could tell by his raspy breathing that he had yet to overcome that hurdle.
The crowd was screaming so loudly that he could barely hear himself thinking and Chris was rather surprised to find that he liked how they sounded. With each display of his physical prowess, their noise grew louder until it filled his world and emptied it of everything else. He glanced briefly at Laurel and saw that she was smiling even wider before turning his attention to his prey whose blood he could smell. Chris circled to the front and then kicked high into the man's face, sending him backwards, hearing bone crunch beneath his boot as he watched in slow motion as the enemy fell flat on his back, blood gushing from a ruined face. There was no need to go any further, he thought.
He was done.
The final strike sent the audience into a frenzy and Chris raised his hands in a victory, working the crowds as they screamed and chanted his name, feeling the adulation glide over him like water soaking the skin. He reveled in it and felt empowered by it all, thoroughly enjoying his notoriety when suddenly, he heard the crowd's cries for his name evolved into something else. They were not calling out his name any more and as he listened closely, what he had done splashed over his skin like cold water with the recognition of one word.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
Dear God! He spun around that far away voice suddenly became very loud in his head as the clarity he had been devoid of returned like the peal of a clanging bell inside his mind. What have you done? He could not breathe, could not understand how he had let it overcome him! He took a step towards the man and prayed that he had not done what it appeared he had. Forgetting all about her, he forced himself to look as if witnessing what he had wrought was a part of the punishment. His opponent did not move and that final blow that had been struck was the one that would ensure he would never move again. His blood spilled into the sand, creating a sheet of red that game from the nose that had been shattered with such force that fragments of bone had sent been sent through his brain with the same devastating effect of a bullet.
Chris could not breathe.
He stood there, hearing them scream his name and he could not breathe! The enormity of what he had done hit him like a speeding locomotive and before he knew what he was doing, he was scrambling towards the enemy. God no, not the enemy, an anguished voice inside him whimpered, the victim. He tried to help but there was little he could do once he examined what he had done. Blood covered his hands as he tried to feel for some signs of life and heard the crowd's roar becoming a drone in the background he could no longer hear.
There was no hope of course. The moment he had delivered the first punch to the throat, aimed with all the rage and pent up feelings at his captivity, it had been too late. Even now, he could see the purple bruise forming under the man's neck, all the signs of internal hemorrhaging as Nathan would say. Nathan, Chris recoiled inwardly as he thought of what the healer would say if the man had seen the act of murder he had committed. Chris stared at the blood in his hands, the blood that seeped into his skin, which he knew he could not remove even if he scrubbed his hands until they were raw.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
The cry of the bloodthirsty crowd screamed in his ears until finally Chris could bear it no more. Getting to his feet, he looked up and searched the faces until he saw her again. She was no longer smiling as she gazed into the ring, leaning over to Mr Zhang, whispering something in the lackey's ear. Chris felt bile sneaking up his gullet, threatening to make him puke his guts out because for one split second, he had lost everything that he was and became the animal she had accused him of being.
"I was afraid it was too soon." Laurel remarked to Mr Zhang as she saw Chris Larabee, kneeling prone next to the man he had inadvertently killed. A crown of blood adorned the man's head following the killing blow that Chris had delivered to his opponent. She saw the former lawman, very clearly aghast at what he had done and frowned with annoyance that the treatment had yet to elevate him to the place he needed to be in order to become a true creature of the Arena.
"Is he ruined?" Zhang asked, watching Chris dispassionately, mourning over his victim much to the crowd's distaste. If Chris intended compassion from this audience he would be waiting for a long time, Zhang thought as he saw the faces of impatience watching the gunfighter.
"No," Laurel shook her head. "He's been broken in a little early but he'll be fine in the long run."
She caught the gaze of the referee who had been watching the battle from the sidelines and immediately gestured for him to act. The man, who was armed, approached the centre of the ring and prodded Chris with his foot. The gunslinger glared at him with nothing less than hatred in those intense eyes and then straightened up to turn his gaze upon her. For a moment, Laurel held his stare, aware that should he ever be free of whatever she had pumping in his veins, he would kill her and have not as much conscience about doing as he had over this stranger he had never known until their battle today.
The referee, a loyal servant named Cobb, not unlike Mr Zhang beside her, jabbed the gun discreetly into Chris' bare ribs, inciting him to remove himself from inside the arena in order to be repatriated to his cell. Chris merely offered Cobb a sidelong glance of acknowledgment, before his chest swelled with controlled anger, which seemed to indicate that Chris' dosage needed to be increased for the period of aggression to lengthen.
"My Lady," Mr Zhang found himself commenting, catching the same vengeful look in Chris' eyes and feeling an uncharacteristic sliver of fear at the rage he saw there. "I do not presume to question you on matters not of my understanding but I do worry about this man."
Laurel regarded her servant. "Why?" She inquired, one eyebrow cocked in interest.
"I feel that he is dangerous My Lady," he volunteered. "Much more so than anyone we have ever taken before."
A day of surprises, Laurel thought to herself. She had not expected Chris to volunteer to fight during her visit to his cell following his latest dosage. It had been something of a surprise when he had said he needed to do something and she had half jokingly offered the Arena as away to expend his energy since his continuing to smash furniture would not do. When Chris had agreed, she thought it might be premature and while he had surprised her by killing so soon, it did not surprise her how quickly and effectively he had done it. He was everything that she had envisioned he would be. Fast and deadly. The man he had killed had been a veteran of many battles and never had she seen him taken down so quickly, not even when he battled the Indian during their sparring matches. Chris had been right when he observed that a smart man who knew how to fight could prevail against one who used brute force and nothing else.
And now Mr Zhang had added an interesting twist on her day with his confession.
"Why is that?" She asked genuinely curious to know since Zhang very rarely expressed opinions. She was accustomed to his obedience without question and while she had no desire to see that change, it was always interesting to hear what he had to say when he felt it important enough to speak his mind.
"There is saying among my people," Zhang remarked, staring at Chris Larabee as Cobb led him out of the Arena and for the moment at least, the crowd had settled into silence, awaiting the next round of combatants. "When one enters a place of darkness, it is wise to move carefully, for in your stumbling you make wake a dragon."
"Very colourful." Laurel replied, amused but unimpressed. "And this means what?"
"It means," he bowed his head. "That Mr Larabee might be a place of darkness we do not know and if we continue what we do without caution, we may wake a dragon that we cannot control."
Chris sat in the confines of his glorified cage, staring at the blood of his hands, still trapped in disbelief at what she had made him do in the arena. He had killed a man for no good reason other than because he felt an insatiable need to vent the aggression he had always been able to control. Chris was staggered by how easy Laurel had managed to break the moral conditioning under which he lived his life and put him to work like a beast in the field. Despite his clarity of mind at the moment, Chris knew with horror that it would not last and the same fever that made him go out into that ring and behave like a savage animal would return and God help him, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Despite these moments of lucidity, Chris knew that there was something happening to him that he could not explain. Even though he was more or less himself again, he could still feel the fog pressing against the fragile walls of his restraint, threatening to overwhelm him at a moment's notice, no matter how much will he impressed upon it. He had started to understand that this was being done to him, even if he could not fathom how. Chris could feel the power in his veins. He could feel himself get stronger and faster. The blow that Chris had delivered to his opponent in the ring should have disabled him enough to keep him from getting up, not crush his windpipe like it was paper and killing the man.
Chris could not be certain whether or not that had been his intention in the first place. His mind had been so far away from where it should have been at the time that he was not certain of anything any more. How long had it been since he had seen Mary? Was it days or weeks? He could not be sure because when he was allowed to venture outside it was always dark and his prison had no windows so the passage of time could not be accurately charted. He tried to keep her in his mind but the memory of his wife was fading fast and he knew there would come a time that all she would be to him was this ring on his finger.
He paced the floor of the room, feeling the pressure build under his skin as his mind became more and more enraged. The space between the walls seemed to shrink and suddenly Chris began to sense that tightening in his chest that made him feel closed in and unable to breathe. He felt it reaching apogee inside his body, tugging at him with its power, goading him into displaying a spectacular burst of rage.
Why hadn't they found him?
His mind started to ponder that question over and over again as this icy cold tendril of panic pierced his brain with agonising pain. Where was Vin? Reliable and steady, always there at his side in a fight! Why hadn't Vin found him yet! Why hadn't any of them? Were they even looking? His breathing became more laboured and the rage took hold of him and tore asunder what remained of his sanity as he paused and smashed both arms into the table before him. The legs buckled under the weight of his strike, snapping wood like kindling as the tabletop dropped to the floor. Chris picked up the chair next to it and smashed the seat against the floor, taking some comfort in seeing the piece of furniture almost completely obliterated.
"Where are you!" He screamed.
There was no answer and the quiet enraged him even more and once again, he was swept on that tidal wave of destruction. Breaking, smashing, crushing with loud and shattering noises, nearly frothing at the mouth which each new crescendo of fury, he was barely self aware as he continued on this torrent of violence. Something was beginning to happen, something that was not just his thoughts racing in his head like a locomotive, stealing restraint and control with each new milestone. It was something horrible and sinister, prodding him insistently, like a splinter that was steadily burrowing through his psyche.
Chris dropped to his knees, feeling it grow stronger when suddenly he heard the jangle of keys and he looked sharply at the door to see Laurel Chase and her lackey pulling open the bars of his cage, preparing to enter. He remained still, unmoving as he watched them breach the walls of the room. Chris knew they believed him to have exhausted himself as he had done on numerous occasion when anger got the better of him and he perpetrated the destruction similar to what he had just carried out a short time ago.
"Really Chris," Laurel said smugly as she surveyed the state of the room, "you must really learn to control your temper."
Chris did not answer.
He waited as she came closer, watched Zhang behind her, ever cautious of any harm that might come to his Lady. However, his protection was flawed because he had no power over her and less ability to make her obey his guidance even when it was necessary. She closed in on Chris with her expensive dress rustling with the sounds of satin against the floor. Chris kept his head down and his eyes hidden as she narrowed the distance between them with Mr Zhang following close behind.
"You must not feel too badly Chris," she cooed with satisfaction and paused a few steps away from him. "You performed superbly, much better than I had ever anticipated. Why the man you killed had been one of my best fighters and you put him down like he was nothing."
Chris was not listening to her. His rage had past a point of no return and he was lion waiting for his moment, watching for the perfect moment to strike.
"I promise you," she said almost tenderly, reaching for his hair to stroke his troubled brow. "It will become easier."
"What did you do to me?" He roared suddenly and straightened up as he swung wide in a backhanded blow that caught her on the jaw and threw her backwards like a rag doll. Mr Zhang reacted almost immediately, going for his gun when Chris shot forward and slammed him into the near by wall before he could produce the weapon and take aim. As the back of the Oriental's skull smashed into the hard surface, Chris threw a powerful punch into his side and then another into his face. The lawman could not count how many times he hit and punched, knowing only that it felt good and that he was striking at the enemy's most vulnerable points.
It did not surprise him that after while, Zhang stopped fighting.
When the huge bulk of the Chinese servant slid to the ground, Chris turned around and searched for Laurel who was lying on her side still, dazed from the punch he had delivered and forgot any thoughts about escape. He ran forward and fairly dragged her up by her hair, noting that line of her jaw was forming an ugly bruise.
"What did you do to me?" He demanded again. His voice was a feral growl that sounded barely human.
"I made you better!" She spat angrily, sinking her nails into his arm and drawing blood.
"You have to do better than that." Chris glared at her as warmth spilled down his biceps, with his barely giving it notice.
Laurel felt no fear even though she was properly furious at being tricked, not to mention her disappointment at Zhang for allowing Chris to get the drop on both of them.
She stared into his black eyes and knew that he was ready, that he had reached the place she needed him to be. The moral decay had finally reached optimum declination. The walls of his honour and nobility had crumbled like dust mostly because that part of him could not imagine murdering in cold blood and had receded into the darkness, horrified by what it had done and thus allowing the darker side of himself free reign. After this, she could give him all the drugs he needed and he would do anything for her.
"I made you a god," she said coldly. "I promised to make you a god and now you are one!"
"You made me a killer!" He shrieked, anguish in his face as he recalled the blood on his hands. The blood that was still on his hands.
"You were always a killer!" She said wrenching free of him.
"No!" He tried to regain control by catching her but Laurel had receded to the other side of the room and was watching him. It had been too long between dosages and he was starting to feel it.
"Its getting worse isn't?" She asked with a smile.
He looked at her unable to understand how she knew but it was the truth. He could feel something new happening to him. It had started as a twitching under his skin, which he had chosen to ignore because he had wanted to hurt her. Chris had wanted to make her and Zhang pay for what they had done to him and so he had ignored the pain that gnawed at him little by little, growing intense as his rage started to subside, as if one had a symbiotic part with the other. Now he could feel it most acutely, stabbing at his skin, creeping, crawling, running, racing and finally burning.
He was burning.
"What did you do to me?" He asked again, his voice almost a ragged sob.
Where was Vin! Where were the others? Why weren't they here yet? Why hadn't they come for him!
"To be a god there must be sacrifices," Laurel said watching him descend slowly into the agony of withdrawal. "The old must be burned away for the new."
Chris dropped to his knees, hugging his body as the pain began to become almost as overwhelming as the rage. His brain started to feel as if it was cooking inside his skull and he clawed at his skin, creating marks of red as he grit his teeth and tried not to scream. "What's happening to me?" He demanded hoarsely, starting to lose coherence the deeper he descended into agony.
"It is called Venom." She replied after a moment, confident that the danger he posed was over. Soon enough, he was not going to be in any condition to be dangerous to her or anyone else. For him to understand his situation, Laurel decided she would allow him to suffer a little more so that he would appreciate the necessity of the gift she was imparting upon him. "A mixture of chemicals and animal secretions, engineered by myself in a laboratory inside this world of mine that you are now an indentured part of."
"It's a drug?" He gasped; closing his eyes as a fresh bout of pain clenched him in its tightening grip.
Laurel was impressed. Most men would be screaming their heads off by now but not her lion, she thought with a smile. He was truly magnificent. She could not wait to take him into her bed. However for now, there was business to be attended to.
"Not quite but for your purpose, I suppose it will do." She shrugged considering it was a good a description as any. "I learnt a long time ago that I had a power over men, that they would do anything for me. I used that power quite effectively to build this little piece of paradise for myself and I created Venom to allow me to keep it forever."
Chris was groaning openly, no longer being able to hide the pain that had swallowed him whole. There was still some resistance left in him for he was man of pride, not prone to surrendering when the odds were against him. His mind, like a man on a slope of sand trying to claw his way to the top, was still fighting to maintain his control or what little of it was left. He knew he was hanging over the edge of the abyss and the darkness was becoming more and more inviting.
"God!" He gasped as the agony of a thousand knives stabbed at him with the totality of excruciating pain. "What have you done to me....?" He hissed through gritted teeth.
"I need a consort to share my kingdom," she looked at him with affection, reveling in the beauty of his face as it contorted in beatific pain. "I have chosen you."
"No!" He moaned, resisting, wanting to scream but somehow forcing that cry of pain inside his throat for as long as he could. He would not allow it to escape him just yet, even though he was almost beyond reason with nerve shattering agony.
"I am not your pet!" He spat at her. His eyes meeting hers with so much hatred that were she not secured in confidence at the magnificence of her creation in his veins, Laurel might have had cause to worry.
"You are not a pet my love," she dropped to her knees and met him at eye level. "You are my soul mate, the one made in perfection for me and even if you do not understand, it matter little to me. I will have you. Not even that insignificant band of gold you wear around your finger concerns me. Your little wife is nothing. She exists nowhere and equal to me?" Laurel started to laugh. "Never. The most she could do is amuse me while I watch her try and tame you."
Chris screamed.
It was possibly the first time in his life that he had ever screamed. The pain shot through him with renewed waves and what was left of his strength dwindled away to nothingness, dropping the walls that held the tide of agony at bay. It rushed forward in its freedom and swept him away, paralysing him with such intense visions of exquisite punishment, that he could do nothing but wail in a hoarse and guttural scream.
"Mary!" He shrieked. "Mary! God please Mary help me! Help me! Please! Mary!" He shrieked with helplessness, mindless with agony because in that last moment of clarity before he was taken from all that he was, Chris Larabee understood one thing.
He had lost her.
The glass shattered under her feet.
Shards of the sharp splinters sprayed out in a circle of expansion upon impact against the hard wooden floor. The water it had carried within splashed on the bare skin of her feet. The sound tore through the night, shattering the calm of the evening with that terrible nose of destruction. For a moment, Mary could not breathe as this powerful feeling of doom overcame her.
"Chris!" Mary Travis Larabee cried out.
For a split second, she had felt him in her mind, unaware of how that could be but knowing that it was her husband who had somehow through space and time called for her. Through whatever power in the universe that allowed one soul to see another and recognise instinctively, they were seeing the other half of themselves, Mary knew that she had felt Chris reaching out to her. His presence in her soul made her heart quicken and then contract with fear when she felt the utter desolation that had caused him to scream out in such an act of spiritual desperation.
"Chris." She whispered softly and felt the tears in her eyes as her heart started to pound behind her breast.
Outside the window, the moon stared at her dispassionately, seemingly unconcerned that the love of her life was gone, possibly dead. Mary had not believed the worst until this moment, when she felt that silent scream in her mind and knew it was his and his alone. She looked down at her swollen belly and wanted to weep when suddenly she noticed something tightening in her lower abdomen. At first, she put it down to the strange connection she had felt with Chris and the loss at its sudden termination. However, it soon impressed itself upon her again with more intensity.
A sliver of pain shot through her lower back with such abruptness that she let out a gasp of surprise more than agony, as it racked through her body. Mary instinctively braced herself against the nearby wall and clutched her stomach when suddenly she felt something warm against her skin that was not water. Her legs had been wet but she had attributed that moisture to the contents of the glass she dropped and allowed to shatter at her feet. However as she looked at her hand, she knew that it was nothing as benign as water.
It was blood.
The lower half of her nightgown was covered in it and the pain that she felt pressing on her lower back had become more intense. She let out a groan of pain, fear gripping her heart for her baby and staggered forward. Another stab of feeling gripped her, this time from her bare feet against the shattered fragments of glass as she took two more shaky steps forward before falling against the kitchen dining table. The table, she though absurdly as tears streamed down her cheeks from the pain, the table that Chris had been absent from for what felt like almost an eternity, not just days.
More pain.
More familiar stirring's inside her belly that was almost as frantic as the beating in her heart. Did the baby sense the danger too? Mary left bloodied handprints on the table as the flow continued to increase making her nightdress slick with wet.
"Billy!" She screamed, trying to pull the chair but not quite managing it. Instead, she tumbled to the floor, falling heavily on her side.
Billy Travis had heard the breaking of glass and stirred out of his slumber long enough for his mother's cry to slice through his dreams of being a great soldier like his step-grandfather and brought him immediately to wakefulness. The eight-year-old who had been told by Chris to take care of his mother before the lawman had left for Vesta City clambered out of bed and ran down the hallway. He bounded down the steps to the kitchen quickly.
"Ma!"
She did not answer.
"Ma!" He called out again. His youthful concerns making him tear through the house in search of his mother and it was not long before he found her. She was unconscious on the floor; the lower half of her cotton nightgown was red.
"Ma!" He squealed in panic and was about to run forward when he noticed the blood on her feet and by extension, the broken pieces of glass. Treading carefully, he navigated through the jagged pieces of glass and reached Mary. Her eyes were closed but he knew she was not sleeping. He could see the blood in her hand and knew that this was very bad indeed.
"Don't worry ma," he said trying to be brave, his lips quivering as he ran his small palm on her brow and stood up. "I'll bring help, I promise." He started to withdraw out of the room. "I promised Chris I was gonna take care of you."
With that, he turned on his heels and ran out of the house.
"Nathan!"
The healer stumbled out of bed at the sound of the heavy pounding on the door. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and wondered whom it was that was raising hell outside his hour of the night and then realised that only something dire could justify such an act of commotion. Pulling his pants on as he staggered out of his bedroom since he had no intention of greeting anyone in his long johns, Nathan did not bother to do the buttons up as he reached his front door. However, healer though he was, Nathan still managed to pause long enough in his journey to his front door, to grab his gun just in case it was trouble.
When he swung open the wooden door and saw who was his late night caller, Nathan realised it was trouble all right just not the kind that could be solved with a bullet.
Rain was standing before him, an expression of real panic on her face as she took a moment to catch her breath. This was not a woman who frightened easily and to see her afraid struck real concern into his heart. Nevertheless, he still noticed the sweat glistening on her bronzed skin under the moonlight and while he thought she looked exceedingly beautiful under the night sky, the fear in her eyes soon drove that appreciation away.
"Rain what is it?" Nathan demanded, his voice showing his worry at her unexpected appearance.
"Nathan, it is Mary." Rain wasted no time in saying. She was still panting because she had run all the way here after Alexandra Styles had raised the alarm that something was terribly wrong at the Larabee household. "Her time has come!"
"Already? She's early!" He exclaimed fearfully, aware just as she, that it was weeks early for such an event even though Mary was eight months pregnant now and it would not be that much of a catastrophe if the baby was born tonight. If indeed that's all it was because Rain had also seen her share of babies come into this world, too much for her to be fearful like this for no good reason.
"It is not that," Rain quickly revealed. "Nathan," she met his gaze with a pain stricken expression on her eyes. "There is blood. Lots of blood." She almost whispered as if saying it softly would make it sound less terrible than it was.
Nathan went ashen with understanding. "Where is she?" He demanded starting to push past Rain in his desperation to reach Mary. His healer's instincts were taking over and the need to go the lady's side was more than insistent.
"Nathan wait," Rain caught hold of his arm before he could start the descent down the steps that led from his home and infirmary. "You have to go bring Inez here. Mary is asking for her and she is very frightened! Alexandra is already at the house and I will be going there to assist her but you must bring Inez. With Chris Larabee gone, we need to give her some comfort and that means she must have her best friend with her."
Nathan nodded in understanding, perfectly aware of how important that request was, almost as important as tending to Mary as a healer. He delayed his departure from home for the moment, retreating back to his door in order to get appropriately dressed for the ride to the Wilmington homestead.
"I'll bring Inez," he said placing a gentle hand on Rain's shoulder, to assure his love that he would do this thing not only for the Mary but also to put Rain's mind at ease. The women that loved the seven had formed a bond almost as strong as that of the seven themselves, forged by their love for unusual men. They had found friendship with each other the way the seven had found camaraderie when they first come together. "You tell Mary to hang on," he instructed firmly. "I'll bring Inez, we can do that much for her at least."