Miracle at Santa Marta Missing Scene

by JoAnnB

What was Kid Curry thinking about while he was in jail in Santa Marta? I found this in my archives today. This is actually the very first ASJ fanfic I wrote in 2004. It was a warm-up exercise to get into the mind of the characters before I started writing my first story. I never posted it because it is so short, but I thought, why not? So here it is.

Missing Scene from "Miracle at Santa Marta"

By Joann Baker

What was Kid thinking about while he was in jail in Santa Marta?

Kid Curry stood silently as the door closed with the loud clank of heavy metal slamming into metal. It was the sound that echoed through prisons and jails. He hated that sound almost as much as the inevitable smells of a jail cell.

"Here I go again." The first time they'd locked him up he'd had hope that Heyes would be able to straighten everything out once he arrived. But now with the witness identifying him, it seemed there would be only the formality of a short trial. He'd be shot—standing in front of that bullet ridden and blood stained adobe wall.

He'd accepted the fact, years ago, that he would probably die young and most likely by a bullet. Outlaws simply didn't grow old gracefully. That was why he and Heyes were trying so hard for amnesty and that was what made this whole situation so unbearable. After all the years of robbing banks and holding up trains, after all the times he'd faced down another gunman in a saloon or out in the street—he was going to die in a Mexican jail for a crime he hadn't even committed.

Would anyone even know how he really died? Would Heyes tell anyone? Or would Kid Curry simply disappear and never be seen again. Of course Heyes would tell Lom, and he supposed Lom would tell the governor. What then? Would Heyes continue to try for amnesty? Would the governor even allow him to after this? "Maybe you'd be safer going back to Devil's Hole," he said out loud. "Look where this law-abiding job got me."

Sleep was impossible and the paced restlessly back and forth in the cell. Usually he could sleep anywhere, but it was so hot in here. He walked over to the small window and peered out into the courtyard. He imagined himself being marched out before the firing squad. Squeezing his eyes closed to block out the image, he walked over to the narrow bench that was the only furniture in the cell. He sat down on the bench and tried to fill his head with other thoughts.

Yesterday, he and Heyes had gone down to the beach. They'd taken off their boots and shirts and gone in the ocean. He'd swam in plenty of rivers and lakes, and even been in the ocean a time or two in California, but he'd never been in water this warm before. They'd let the waves crash over them and played around like schoolboys. He remembered the feeling of the sand between his toes and the pull of the tide as it drew the water up into each new wave. They'd planned to go again before taking the stage back to Yuma—after this ridiculous murder charge was dropped.

He sunk down further onto the bench. It was so hot; it was even hot at night here. His whole body was wet. Sweat was pooling and running down the center of his back in large drops. He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. "Heyes, if you've got one more trick up your sleeve, now would be a good time to pull it out." Heyes was right, it really was going to take a miracle to get him out of this one.