Watchers

I don't own these characters. I just like to spend time with them. No other profit to be had.

AN: I reeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllyyyyyyyy shouldn't have to say this but I will. This is a fictional story and bears no relationship to real life. There are many 'reality' shows as well as the news on TV if you want reality. Thank you!

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The tall blonde man watched the scene before his eyes intently, a small smile gracing his evilly handsome face. The scar on his cheek the one thing marring his perfect features. "You know, I was going to do that." He shook his head with regret. "I was going to leave that town something just like that to whisper about. I was going to make sure that Marshal and his women bent. Dillon fixed that though."

"He did the same for me and my Joe and our boys." The small woman with big blues eyes sighed as she took in the events unfolding before them. "I sure wish it would've happened on the morning of the second day, though."

"I don't know, Ma." Her son spoke up as he scratched his darkly scruffy cheek. "I think it was better he had to wait a little longer. Makes it just that much harder on him. Still, it'd been better if it was him banging on the pearly gates telling St. Peter to let him in."

"Don't you worry about that ol' son." The dark haired, mustacheod man chuckled as he stepped up beside them. "He'll go soon enough. Soon as he takes that badge off, he'll go. Course, I don't reckon he'll be going up to them gates you mentioned. Least ways, I hope not. He owes me for them men he cost me."

"You're not the only one he owes." The tall man with thinning blonde hair said, moving to the other side to better his view. "He may not have been the one that beat me to death, but I still hate him for punching me out in the saloon the way he did. All fiery women like me. And that one would've too, if he'd kept his nose out of it."

"Well, maybe." Another tall, sandy haired man stepped up amongst them. "But then again, maybe not. You can take it from me, she doesn't give in too easily. I've always said; you've got to pay attention to your direction. She made me lose my direction for a while. But I sure enjoyed it."

Another man joined them and silently watched what was happening before shaking his head at what he saw. "Shame that." He said, his English accent still strong. "She's a brave woman and a smart one. She outfoxed me, I'll tell ya. Even though by rights, I should hate her for keeping me from killing Ollie and for what she done to me, I can't. I can't blame her at all."

"Well, I blame her." A husky man approached them, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched the same scene the others were. "She led me on with her kisses and such. You just can't turn a man on and off like that. I mean first she tells me that she thinks I'm a poet, then she asks what's gotten intp me and tells me she's not going with me. Dillon may have killed me, but it's her fault."

"I blame her too." An older man, tall as he was wide stepped up. "She didn't have to tell Dillon which room my gunman was staying in. She didn't have to tell him anything. But she just couldn't keep her mouth shut. She ran right to him. I blame her and Dillon both for what happened to me more so than Cooter. He was just a dummy anyway."

"Who's a dummy?" A shorter young man with straw colored hair in tattered clothes stepped up, his eyes dull and his face showing his lack of intelligence, as he absently petted the chicken in his arms.

"Not you." The rotund former gambler sighed in exasperation. "Another dummy."

"Oh, I thought you was calling me names." The younger man's eyes narrowed at him.

"You're not a dummy. You recognized beauty when you saw it." The English sounding man spoke up.

The dim witted boy nodded. "I never seen a young pretty woman like that afore when they come to our place. And I was gonna take her. She was gonna be my woman. But that there marshal, had to go and stop me and he done it cause of her. Yeah, I blame her and him too."

"Well, I don't." This man, though also shorter and blonde, had a quick smile and a decently handsome face until his eyes turned hard and cold as he watched the scene the others were. "I blame that old man and that halfwit deputy. They tricked me. That town and everything in it, including that woman, if I'd a wanted her, was mine, til they tricked me."

"They weren't the only ones." This man's voice was gruff and his dark eyes fairly glowed with hate for both the people in the scene before them and the blonde man who'd just spoken. "That Miss Kitty. She knew what was going on. She helped them set us up. And you… you weren't smart enough to figure that out."

The shorter cruelly handsome one raised a fist in response but before he could do more, a woman stepped between them. "Now, now fellas. Let's not have any of this between us. A cat can't change its stripes and neither can we by blaming others for what we did."

The two men continued to glare at each other but refrained from going to blows as still yet another man stepped up. For several moments he said nothing before finally shaking his head. "Ah, they're nothing but bums. They're all just bums. Dillon too."

"And what about the red head?" The pretty dark eyed blonde asked. "She a 'bum' too?"

"Un huh," he shook his dark head, even darker eyes shining as he remembered the smell of the red headed woman as he stood next to her and offered to pay for her packages and walk her home. Even the memory of her slapping him didn't dim the feeling of wanting her as he watched her walk past. "No, she was a pretty girl. Even prettier woman. No she wasn't no bum."

"No she was in the way is what she was." This man, tall, thinning ash colored hair with tattered clothes and three day's worth of beard put in as he joined the others. "I didn't mean to shoot her but she just had to jump in and defend that fool with the gimpy leg. Even called me a rotten bully. It was her fault she got in front of that bullet, not mine."

"Well, I can say one thing for her." Still yet another man joined the throng. "She's sure gutsy. Stood up to me and my men like she was holding us hostage instead of the other way around. I'll tell ya, I'd gotten away to Mexico with that sixty thousand and her too if that gambler hadn't a blown them shells like he did. And her boyfriend Dillon…" He shook his head. "He was better than I gave him credit for. I told her I'd keep her warm, but looks like her and Dillon did that for me instead."

"That lawdog did that for all of us." This man was young, well-muscled with wild black hair and a sneer on his face as he watched the proceedings. "I told him. I told him how Jude'd get him. I told him. But he didn't take me serious. He just took me in for hanging like he had no cares. Well, he's caring now, ain't he? He's taking me awful serious now, ain't he?"

"He's taking a lot of things seriously now." A final voice spoke up as a figure dressed in a black hooded cloak approached the others. The group of people turned and looked his way before quickly shrinking back. Though the man usually spoke cheerfully and calmly, he was no one to anger and his very touch burned hotter than the fires they were used to.

The figure turned his eyes to the same scene the others had been watching. Silently, they all listened as the brute of a man, his heavily muscled arms stretched out and his black hair hanging down his back as he raised his head and shouted to the town. "Listen, Dodge! This here's Jude Bonner! They hung my little brother this morning. I took that Marshal's woman! Now I brung her back!"

Though every man and woman watching this scene were hardened to evil and though each of them bore more than just a small grudge against the Marshal and his woman, they still gasped collectively when she came into sight, barely hanging on to the horse she was atop and to life itself. It was clear that Jude Bonner had hurt her badly in more ways than one.

"Does Matt know about this?" The young blonde woman asked. Though she had never cared for the red head and her love for the tall blue eyed marshal had long since waned, she did still fondly remember the young man of her youth that she had,for a fleeting period of time, considered marrying.

"Not yet," the dark figure replied. "He will soon. And though he won't die, he'll suffer torment unlike any of you could ever imagine."

"More torment than this?" The man, who'd been the first to speak, lightly stroked his mustache as he touched the scar on his face.

"Yes," the deep voiced figure with no face nodded. "You see, Dillon loves that woman. He seldom shows it, never mentions it, at least to most people, but he loves her and he needs her and when he returns here and sees what has been done to her, his heart will be crushed."

Before anyone could ask what he meant, the sound of a gun being fired was heard. All heads turned once again to see the beaten, abused and battered woman suddenly spin around and drop to the boardwalk in front of her business.

"Well." The dark figure's voice grew even deeper. "All of you wanted to see this. All of you wanted to finally see the Marshal and his lady in torment. You've seen the lady. Do you wish to stay and see that of the Marshal's? Or have you had enough?"

The people gathered there collectively dropped their heads. Even after all the evil they had done in life, even in this place that they now found themselves in, they still felt a miniscule bit of sorrow for what the lady had endured.

"Well," the English man spoke up. "I've had enough. I don't think I can bear to see more."

"Wait up!" The young blonde woman spoke and hurried to reach his side. "I'll go with you. I don't want to see anymore either."

"And the rest of you?" The ebony figure asked.

No one else spoke, but in unison they all turned and followed the other two. As the massive door opened, flames and intolerable heat jumped out at them, but almost willingly they entered. They preferred the torment they were accustomed to, to what they had just witnessed. The tiny spark of humanity, that they had once had, flared just long enough to make them turn away from the horrible sight of what they had just watched and wished to never see again.

The End

"Remember that all through history, there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they seem invincible. But in the end, they always fall. Always."
― Mahatma Gandhi, The Story of My Experiments With Truth