Sorry for the huge delay everyone - so much been going on, not least my computer crashing and I stopped watching Deadwood for a while which made me less inclined to write. But the story continues! Please read and review!
June 27th 1876
Al knew the newspaper man hadn't heard him softly open the door that led to the passageway between their two establishments and let himself into the newspaper office. Merrick was busy, bent over his press, no doubt finalising the typeface for the next edition of the Pioneer. For a moment, Al watched, wondering what headline would scream out at him the following morning and whether it would relate back to Catherine. He had kept that offending copy of the newspaper, for what reason he knew not.
He slammed the door suddenly, causing Merrick to jump and turn, a sudden look of trepidation, even fear, crossing his features. "Al..." he greeted him cautiously, "What brings you here at this late hour?"
Al glanced at the clock on the wall and saw to his surprise that it was almost midnight. Time seemed to drift pass him of late so quickly that he scarce knew whether it was morn or twilight. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs, descending towards Merrick, his eyes never leaving the other man's face, perversely enjoying the discomfort his presence created.
"H...how is Mrs Swearengen?" Merrick asked, taking a step back and rubbing his inky hands with a dirty rag. "Does she improve at all?"
"No," Al replied, stepping off the last step and facing the other man. "She does not."
"I'm sorry," Merrick looked at the ground, "I had hoped for..."
"Something new to print in your newspaper? You wished to be first to report on her miraculous recovery as you were first to report on her affliction?"
"You seek solace in liquor, I see," Merrick said, gesturing at the bottle Al had forgotten he was even holding. "Understandable, under the circumstances..."
Al held up the whisky bottle and studied it, as though seeing it for the first time. He had lost count of how many bottles he had drained in the last few, terrible, days as Catherine had grown steadily weaker. It seemed, however, as though the liquor had no effect any more. It couldn't blot out for him the realisation of what was shortly to come. She continued to bleed and her breathing had taken on a raspy quality that seemed to fill the room up so much that he imagined he could hear it even when he wasn't beside her. Her skin, dry and stretched over her face, like a death mask.
"I...apologise if my reporting on her condition upset you," Merrick said carefully, "but I am the editor of the camp newspaper and such news..."
"Needed to be reported," Al finished for him.
"Well...yes..."
"You face quite a dilemma in your profession, Merrick," Al set the bottle down gently on the nearest counter and fingered the edge of the press. "Caught between your duty to the camp and your duty to your...friends."
"I suppose..."
"She always championed you, you know. The right to print whatever the hell you wanted whether or not it might reflect badly on us as a camp. Whether or not it might reflect badly on me." He looked up and met Merrick's gaze. "And you sold her down the fucking river."
"Now h...hold on..."
"I should gut you right here."
"Al..." Merrick stepped back and put his hands up in front of him. "I report news in the camp. An outbreak of cholera is news whether you like it or not. Citizens need to know about these things so as to protect themselves and I would...I would wager that were your wife not afflicted you would have encouraged me to print such news, as I did when plague struck us."
Al stared at him, the fat, florid face of a man he thought he could trust, a man he might have considered a friend. But in business, there were no friends. Only those one had to tolerate to survive. Killing him would make little difference to the current situation and, were she to live, he knew it would be an act for which Catherine would never forgive him.
"Perhaps you're right, fucking Merrick," he said, suddenly stepping back and lifting his bottle. "I keep you from your chosen calling for too long now."
Surprise crossed Merrick's face at his departure. "You do?"
"Print whatever the fuck you like," Al continued, climbing the stairs back towards the passageway. "But do not call me friend or confidante or acquaintance," he turned back to look at the newspaper man. "For you and I are none to each other."
XXXX
Despite his assurances to Wai-Lee, it had taken Doc the best part of two days to summon up the courage to venture into Chinks Alley to try and locate her family. It wasn't that he was afraid of them, but he was afraid of their reaction to him bringing news from the Gem. Moreover, he was afraid of Al's reaction lest he find out.
Not that Al was really inclined to do much these last few days except sit by Catherine's bedside and drink himself into a stupor. He barely left the room and though Doc knew Trixie had tried to rouse him, he regularly refused to heed her. For as much as he worried about Catherine and her likely fate, he worried too about Al and his reaction to it when it came.
As he made his way through Chinks Alley, many of the workers still plying a trade turned to stare at him. They all knew who he was, though they made no use of his services. On that score, he realised it would be of some surprise to them to see him enter their midst at all. Though he knew nothing of Jing-Ho, Wai-Lee had told him to try the washhouse first, on the assumption that he might be working in her stead. As he approached the building in question, he saw a male Chink standing outside the door, a slim cigarette in his mouth, looking skywards.
"Excuse me," Doc said, stepping up to him. He lowered his gaze sharply and Doc found himself momentarily unsettled. "I'm looking for Jing-Ho."
"I'm Jing-Ho," the man replied softly.
"I'm...Doc Cochrane. I'm..."
"I know who you are," Jing-Ho replied. "You work for man at Gem."
Doc put his bag down slowly. "I bring news of your wife."
Jing-Ho's eyes widened, "She is still alive?"
"Very much so, and she ain't sick if that's your worry." He watched the other man visibly relax. "But the man at the...the Gem..."
"He keep her there," Jing-Ho interrupted. "He think she make the woman sick?"
"Mrs Swearengen...the woman...she has cholera. The sickness that's been affecting the camp, including your people. It's in the water."
Jing-Ho glanced at the large barrel of water sat a few feet away. "I have never heard of it."
"I can assure you that's what it is."
"But why is Wai-Lee to blame?" he stepped forward. "Why does he keep her?"
"Mrs Swearengen was with your wife when she needed some water. Your wife gave it to her and it was shortly after that that she became sick."
"But how could Wai-Lee have known?"
Doc shook his head, "She couldn't."
Jing-Ho paused and look at him for a long moment. "I know that Mr Wu talked with the man. He will not let Wai-Lee go."
"It appears not," Doc replied. "But I'll be keeping an eye on her and I can come back and tell you that she's all right."
"I would like that."
"She asked me to try and find out about her grandmother. I'm sorry, but I forget her name..."
"Ciao-Xing," Jing-Ho replied sadly. "She die."
"I'm very sorry," Doc said. "Is there something you would like me to pass on to your wife?"
"Tell her..." he paused. "Tell her that it will be all right. Please."
Doc nodded and lifted his bag. "Then I shall bid you goodnight, sir."
"Thank you," Jing-Ho said. "Thank you for telling me."
As he made his way back towards the Gem and, subsequently, home he couldn't help but think about the power that one person could have over another. Al, struggling with impending grief over his wife, using his power and influence to separate another man from his. Life could be incomprehensible sometimes.
"Doctor Cochrane!" He turned at the sound of his name and was surprised to see Mrs Ellsworth hurrying towards him across the thoroughfare. "I'm glad I saw you," she greeted him. "I've been trying to speak with you for some time now but something or other has always managed to prevent it."
"It's late for you to be traipsing around the camp, ain't it?"
"Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but I regularly take the air before bed. I was wondering...hoping...you could tell me about Mrs Swearengen? Are there any signs of her improving?"
Doc shifted uncomfortably, "None, I'm afraid."
"How terrible. And Mr Swearengen? He must be very...very troubled by her condition."
"I believe that to be putting it mildly, Mrs Ellsworth."
"I see. I saw him in the graveyard several days ago and he seemed very..." She glanced up at the muted light from the Gem. "Would you please pass on my profound good wishes to them both? Mine and Mr Ellsworth's, of course."
"Of course."
"Thank you Doctor." Without saying more, she turned and began making her way back across the thoroughfare in the direction of her home, leaving Doc somewhat bemused by so many of the evening's events.
June 28th 1876
"What think you to this? E.B. has sold his hotel to none other than George Hearst! He, who intends to come to camp and ride roughshod over us all, has been given a perfect fucking opportunity to so do by our very own mayor selling to him! I confess I sometimes don't give E.B. credit for his complete and inane stupidity. I wonder sometimes if he doesn't take it from that idiot that he employs." Al sighed and leaned back in the chair. "They think I don't know about it. Dan and the other boys. They lower their voices when near me lest I find out and perhaps do something a more prudent man would not do. But then, when have you ever known me to be less than prudent?" He stared at Catherine's unresponsive form. "You know, right now I would give my eye teeth for you to rebuke me for something, anything, rather than you lie there like a fucking corpse. Didn't you hear my confession to you but three days ago? Do not you wish to rise up and strike me a blow? I would not even attempt to defend myself," he continued, spreading his arms, "and you may strike as true and as deadly as you wish."
A soft knock distracted him and, looking up, he saw Doc appear from around the corner at the doorway.
"Doc."
"Jesus Christ, you look like shit," Doc greeted him. "Have you slept at all?"
"Here and there." Al watched as he moved over to the bed, placed his bag on the ground and pulled open one of Catherine's eyes. "You don't look so well rested yourself." He paused. "I visited Merrick last night."
"And?"
"I left him in one piece, but in no doubt of the new path our relationship will hereinafter follow." He got to his feet, wincing at the pain in his back, and moved over to splash his face from the wash basin. "I think I may have unnerved him."
"I met Mrs Ellsworth last night," Doc said, steering the conversation in a new direction. "She wished to send her best to both you and Catherine."
"I had no idea your paths crossed so easily. I had always assumed she found you...irksome."
"She came upon me as I was leaving Chinks Alley."
Al turned at his words, "And what business took you to Chinks Alley so late?"
"Wai-Lee asked me to find her husband and reassure him that she was well," Doc replied casually, placing his stethoscope on Catherine's chest.
"Don't use that Chink whore's name in my presence. And don't you be scurrying around Chinks Alley giving them information as to the goings on here, I won't allow it."
"I don't take my orders from you, Al, and in any events was simply following upon a request from a patient."
"She ain't your patient, Doc, that's your fucking patient!" Al said, pointing to the bed.
"I'm well aware of that..."
"Then do your fucking job."
"And just what the hell do you think I'm doing?" Doc asked, rounding on his friend. "What the hell else would you like me to do, Al? Catherine is dying. She is dying and there ain't nothing that you nor I can do about it and keeping that Chink locked up downstairs ain't going to make a blind bit of difference to the outcome up here!" He turned back and began listening to her stomach.
"Perhaps not," Al conceded, "but it makes me feel a whole lot fucking better." Moving over to his desk, he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a fresh bottle of whisky. For a moment, he stared at it, mindful of Merrick's comment the previous evening and the fact that it could have been water for all the effect it had. Besides, if he wasn't careful, he would have drunk the stores dry with little reason to warrant purchasing more other than his own indulgencies. "I assume you told him that she remains where she is for the time being? You may look in on her from time to time if you wish but beyond that, she remains in my custody."
"Al..."
"And I don't care for a lecture on my drinking habits either," he replied sourly, "given that I believe that to be your next topic of conversation."
"It ain't that. The child's heartbeat has...stopped." Al froze at the words and then turned to face him. "That means..."
"I know what it means," he said softly.
"I'm sorry."
Al nodded as he uncorked the bottle. "You and me both, Doc, you and me both."
XXXX
"Poor Catherine," Trixie said as Doc broke the news to her moments later. "If she lives, this ain't the kind of news she's going to want to hear upon her recovery."
"She ain't going to live, Trixie," Doc said. "Probably only looking at a few more days now."
Trixie paled. "I thought...I mean I hoped..."
"I know."
"I never liked her at the start. When I first met her, that is. Figured she thought she was better than all the rest of us cause her Daddy owned half the place and she didn't have to whore." She wiped her eyes. "Time taught me I was wrong. She was the only one who could stand up to Al without fear of feeling the back of his hand. And she did it too, stood up for the girls. Even when she didn't have to."
"I'm...I'm worried about Al," Doc confided. "I know liquor has always been his friend but the rate he's drinking gives me cause for concern. As does..." he nodded in the direction of the room where he knew Wai-Lee remained.
"You still think he's going to kill her?"
"I believe so."
"Al ain't...he ain't really like that," Trixie said. "I mean, I know he's killed before cause I've seen him do it but...but it's always been for some sort of twisted...noble reason. But this...she hasn't done anything wrong!"
"In Al's mind, she has."
"How did he...I mean...how did he take...?"
Doc sighed and looked heavenwards, "I honestly don't know."
XXXX
"A pillow, a knife, a blow to the head? How should I do it? What would be the kindest way to put her out of her fucking misery, do you think?" Al glanced across the room from his desk to the bed. "What would be the quickest and most painless? Do you have an opinion? No, of course you don't, you're a fucking whore and I don't ask for my whores to have opinions, only open mouths and open pussies." He began unbuttoning his pants. "Get over here and suck my prick."
Dolly, stood against the closed office door, paused and stared wordlessly at him.
"Well don't stand there looking like you don't know what to do with it," he insisted. "I don't keep you in my employ just to stand around looking fucking melancholic now, do I?"
"I...there's..."
"I'm sorry, does the suggestion offend you? Have you something better to be doing then satisfying me, for if so I would be enthralled to hear all about it!"
"It's just..." Dolly glanced over at the bed,
"Well it ain't as if she's going to be putting up a protest any time soon, is it?" Al said. "Lying there like sleeping fucking beauty while the rest of us run around after her like she's fucking royalty." He got to his feet and stepped forward, grabbing Dolly by the arm and pulling her to the foot of the bed. "Look at her. Do you see how she doesn't even move now? Not one inflection crosses her face, not one muscle moves, least of all one that could satisfy me now. Therefore it is incumbent on you to fulfil your role as you once did in days gone by." He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward so that she was forced to take hold of his shaft. "That's it..." he encouraged as she began stroking him. "Keep doing that for a moment while she lies there. I tried to tell her. I tried to keep her from venturing into Chinks Alley but would she listen to me? Of course she wouldn't. Too fucking stubborn and full of her own importance. Too clever to listen to anything I might have to say. And then what happens? She feels unwell, she drinks the water and now...now she's dying."
He moved backwards and sank into the chair by the bed, pulling Dolly with him and forcing her onto her knees. "Suck my prick now." He gripped the back of her hair and pushed her face to his groin, where she could do little other than as she was bidden. An instant wave of calm flowed through him at the familiarity of the action. "There, Cathy, do you see? Do you see what you've made me do now?" He addressed the figure in the bed. "You lie there and I sit here and poor Dolly kneels there pleasuring me in ways that you should be responsible for. Ways that you would be responsible for were you not the sanctimonious, self-righteous, all-knowing little bitch who has reduced me to doing this! It's you who has done this. You who has forced Dolly to do this. You who has taken yourself and your...my...our..." He broke off suddenly.
For a moment, the only noise in the room was a mixture of the sound of Catherine's laboured breathing and Dolly's wet mouth on his prick.
"Get off me," he said, causing Dolly to lift her head in confusion. "I said, get the fuck off me!" He pushed her violently away so that she fell back onto her bottom. "Get the fuck out of here," he commanded her, hurriedly rebuttoning his pants. "Didn't you fucking hear me?" he said as she continued to stare at him. With little further need of encouragement, she got to her feet and ran out of the room. He put his head in his hands and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets until red dots danced across the darkness.
"Our child," he said finally. "Our child."