In
Pace Requiescat
A
Gunsmoke
Story
Chapter Four: For the Love of God, Montressor
The sound of movement on the other side of the door caught her attention once more. It had been hours since she'd had any contact with her captor. Snatching the fork from the mattress, she slid it up the right sleeve of the dress with the tines just above her wrist. The door opened and Barton appeared, carrying a meal tray. He leered when he saw her, which only repulsed her more.
"Enjoy your supper, my dear. It will be your last for this world," he said, placing the tray on the cot. "Then, you will have no need of earthly sustenance."
When he turned to leave she let the fork slip into her hand, took a moment to grasp it firmly, and lunged at him, thrusting the utensil hard into the vulnerable flesh of his neck. He howled in pain, clutching at the bloody wound. Kitty threw herself toward the door to get past him, but he grabbed her and slammed her backwards into the wall. Stars burst before her eyes as her head hit the unforgiving surface, nausea rushing to her throat. Her knees buckled and she crumbled to the ground.
Grabbing at his neck, the man cursed the blood that was now running down his back. "Annabel, how could you? You will pay for this! You and Fortunato! I was going to be merciful with you. Not like with her and, and – him. No, I fixed those two. Mister Poe and I did. And I was going to make it easy for you, but not now. Not now!" he screamed as he slammed the door shut.
Kitty only vaguely heard the door lock as she lay, half-conscious against the wall. She had blown her chance. After a few moments, she managed to struggle to her knees and climb onto the cot. The smell of the food nauseated her, so she put the tray onto the floor and lay down facing the wall, focusing on staying awake, determined not to die in terror, desperately remembering the good times and all of people who had touched her life: Chester, Doc, Quint, Louie, Festus, Sam, Silver Creek, cool morning rides, and Matt. Darkness laid claim to her vision, though, and she lost the battle to stay conscious. As she drifted into blackness, her last thoughts were of Matt. She prayed, at least, that he would not be punished for her mistake.
XXXXXShe awoke some time later to find herself tied to the cot and gagged. A noise to her right drew her attention toward the door. Her eyes widened in fright. Barton stood there by the bricks and mortar, a trowel in his hand, two layers of a wall already complete between them. Dear God, he really was going to do it. He was going to leave her here. He was going to entomb her here forever. She tried to scream, but it came out as a muffled groan, and she could only watch as he spread the mortar and then laid the bricks, row by row, humming as he went.
"'It was now midnight'," Barton recited, becoming Montressor, himself, "'and my task was drawing to a close'." He paused for a moment, telling her, "This was to be Fortunato's fate, you see. It fits so much better in the story for it to be him. I am irritated that you ruined that for me."
"Story?" she tried to croak out around the gag.
He acted as if she had not spoken. "But I suppose I can use poison, or perhaps a pendulum. Pity there's not a gorilla handy."
What the hell was he talking about? "Please," she mumbled, searching her groggy brain for an answer.
It occurred to her that his words meant Matt wasn't dead, yet, but she didn't know what she could do about that. She couldn't think, couldn't grab onto clarity. Perhaps that was best.
She turned her eyes toward the ceiling. She didn't want to watch. She couldn't. As she lay there, the wall grew higher; the flame in the lamp caught her attention as it struggled to breathe. When the flame went out, it would only be a matter of time before her air supply would be gone as well. Kitty knew she needed to concentrate on breathing very slowly with shallow breaths. The less oxygen she used, the longer she would stay alive. She contemplated struggling against her confines, but that would use more energy than she could afford.
"'I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier'," he said, his voice reverent. "'I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in'."
The wall was almost to the low ceiling, now. Barton peered over its narrow opening and spoke softly.
"'The
angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and
me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom
by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling
and killing my Annabel Lee'."
This isn't happening, she thought wildly. Surely, this isn't happening.
"Can you say it?" he asked, his voice barely audible, now. "Can you say it for me? 'For the love of God, Montressor.' Can you say it?"
But she couldn't. And she wouldn't have, even if she could. She could have dignity at the end, at least.
As the last brick scraped into place, she heard his final comment. "In pace requiescat."
Then, her tomb was complete.
Alone, with the silence pounding in her ears, Kitty's dissipating consciousness clung to one thought: Matt. She knew if it was at all possible, he was out there, searching for her, but was there enough time?
The flame, once bright and glowing, was now a dying ember.
He was her flame, and she was his oil. Together, they shone like a beacon in a storm.
The air grew thicker, harder to breathe.
He wouldn't stop until her found her, dead or alive.
The bandana in her mouth was soaked with her saliva.
He would take her home, home to Dodge.
Her shoulders were cramping from their awkward angle.
He would make sure she got a proper burial.
It was so hard to breathe.
He would make sure Louie had money for food, a warm place to sleep, and whiskey when he needed it.
Her lungs were beginning to burn.
He would make sure Festus and Doc didn't argue too much.
The heaviness in her chest was becoming unbearable.
He would make sure Sam became owner of the Long Branch, as she wished.
Her life, like the flame, was only a flicker now.
He would go on with his life. He would find new oil.
Without warning, darkness consumed the room; the flame was gone.
But, without oil, a flame can't burn.
TBC