The next day…
No one that was there could erase the memory of Bronte's killing. Ana hadn't witnessed that side of Dutch before. What frightened her the most was that it reminded her of herself, when she had slit the throat of Catherine Braithwaite. If no one had stopped her, she would've done worse to her father. They were truly awful human beings, but do living embodiments of evil deserve to be murdered in cold blood? Ana wasn't sure. She found herself questioning her own morals for the first time in her life. There was a killer instinct in her that she inherited from her father. A darkness that revealed itself occasionally. Dutch and she shared this hidden characteristic.
She didn't see any solution other than ignoring it. What else could she do? Hate herself until it went away? That wasn't a realistic option in her opinion. She crawled into bed last night, listening to her older lover's soft breathing. He's always been a quiet sleeper. But that night she just wanted to be alone, the way she used to live months ago. No more men fighting for her time. No more angry stares from Karen. No more killing folk. And no more Micah occupying her every thought.
She dreamt of Molly strangling her. When she finally wakes up, she gasps desperately to fill her lungs with oxygen. She touches her neck, recalling the feeling of the dead woman's nails digging into her. It was the sort of nightmare that leaves you disoriented, searching for your reality through puffy eyelids.
Ana pinched her cheeks to look more alive, throwing on a frilly green blouse and dark trousers to appear presentable. Everyone was awake and occupied with chores by the time she made her way to a stale pot of coffee. She drank the cool liquid, wrinkling her nose at the taste. She spots Arthur nearby with a shiny pen in his journal, she approaches him, leaning on her right leg and crossing her arms when she speaks.
"You gonna show me what you're hiding in that journal of yours?"
He glares at her, his blue eyes squinting defensively. "Can't a man have some privacy?"
She raises a dark brow. "Of course he can. Can't a woman be curious?"
They exchange a silent stare. Arthur looks away first, flipping through his brown leather book. "Fine. I'll show you one thing, that's it." He gives up his most prized possession to her. She lifts it up, examining a detailed sketch of herself. The woman looked like a stranger, her expression was neutral while she rested against a recognizable oak tree. There was a cigarette burnt halfway between her fingers. This woman was stronger, older and more beautiful than her reflection.
"So this is how you see me, huh Morgan?" She hands him back the journal, deciding to respect his privacy.
He slides it into his satchel, pushing on the ground to stand up. "Don't flatter yourself. I draw them sketches whenever someone new joins the gang."
"Uh-huh. I bet you do. How many you got of Sadie in there?"
Arthur shot her a look, his cheeks turning a shade of tomato red. "Watch it girl. You don't wanna get thrown in a swamp, do you?"
She takes a cautious step backwards. "Alright, alright I hear you. I'll behave…" They share a nostalgic chuckle at a shared memory. She exhales through her lips, pushing back her hair. "You know we gotta talk now, don't you?"
He presses his lips into a line, nodding understandingly. "Yeah so, talk. What we gonna do about…" he pauses, scanning the surrounding area for anyone, "you know what."
She puts her hands on her hips, pacing in a small circle. "Gotta try something else. Something safer. Was thinking yesterday, what if we got him drunk and I charmed it outta him? Might actually work, considering none of them girls will even look at him. It's worth trying, don't you think?"
Arthur tilted his head back and forth, thinking briefly. It was still risky, but they had to at least try one more time before going straight to Dutch. "Fine, do it. Just be careful, you hear me? He ain't no gentleman. I'll get everyone drinking later. Nothing better than some whiskey before robbing a big city bank." He sarcastically emphasized the last three words.
"Sure thing. I'll catch you later, Morgan." They parted ways, a nervous knot growing in her stomach.
…
It doesn't take a lot of convincing to get the gang drinking. It was later in the evening and the booze was already flowing. The atmosphere was rowdy, accompanied by cheerful songs and loud, delightful cackles. Ana hated the taste of warm beer, but she didn't particularly enjoy waking up with a pounding headache in the morning. Hard liquor does that to her. Dutch and Hosea have been missing all day, she guessed they're scouting the city for their next job. The last one ever, if Dutch is right. She just hoped everything would go smoothly after that mess at the trolley station.
She's about to look for Micah when the sound of classical music comes from the distance, someone twirls her unexpectedly. It's Javier, he smells strongly of smoke.
"Come Bella dance with me!" There's no harm in a friendly dance, she figures. They smile gleefully as he performs all sorts of fancy flares, she follows his lead since she's no dancer.
"Who taught you to dance like that, Escuella?" He dips her towards the ground, supporting her by her waist.
"A girl I almost married. Her name was Isabella, she was a beauty if I ever saw one."
"Mind if I ask what happened?" she asks considerately. There are plenty of men here who lost the love of their lives, it was a common pattern for outlaws.
"Same thing that always happens, she left when she got tired of my lifestyle. Men like me don't hold on to a civilized woman for long. That's why Dutch is lucky to have you around. You're one of the good ones."
They keep up their fast-paced movements despite the serious conversation. "Dutch? I think you're forgetting 'bout someone else. Also, there ain't no such thing as 'one of the good ones.' We're all just people, Javier, and people usually aren't good or bad."
The Mexican man wasn't all that interested in her insight. He shrugged apathetically. "All I'm saying is that you've got one man with no woman and another man with a beautiful lady who's pining after him. She's also probably the mother of his child. The odds are in Dutch's favour. Besides, he's always been able to charm any woman he meets."
Ana feels sickened by his opinion because he has a point. She swallows nervously, biting her lip. "I ain't looking for no husband, my friend. It's not a competition, it's just how I'm living my life for now. And Abigail? She don't love John no more, at least that's what he told me…"
Their dance stops, Javier plants a hand on her slender shoulder. "Stop kidding yourself, Ana. Doesn't pretending get tiring? Dutch can give you a life… John wants to, but he can't."
She smacks his hand away, her brows furrowing. "Why does everyone feel like they can tell me how to live my life? It's my life, not yours. Please just leave me be." She walks away, grabbing her third beer from a box and continuing her search for Micah. She spots him sitting on his bedroll with an emptied bottle of whiskey in his lap. Ana sits across from him, offering the drink she took for herself.
"Why don't you take a seat by the fire?" she asks normally. If she cozied up to him too much, he'd get the wrong idea.
He takes the beer, opening it with his back teeth and spitting the cap out. "Cause I'd rather not listen to good ol' Bill's war stories." His slurred speech and wandering eyes make his intoxication obvious.
Ana controls her fake laugh into a breathy giggle. If anyone else had said that, she would've found it genuinely humorous. "He sure does like to talk whenever he drinks."
Micah leans back, supporting his weight with his hands on the ground. He tilts his head curiously. "What's got you acting all friendly, cowgirl? Finally get the stick outta your ass? Or are you looking for a change in company? Cause I can be real friendly…" He leans forward, lowering his voice. "Marston wouldn't tell me how you like it. But Dutch, oh, he told me all about you. Said you're like a wild horse that needs to be tamed, makes sense considering how sweaty he is after you two aren't seen in camp for a while."
In any other situation, Ana would've punched him so hard that he'd lose a tooth. It took all her willpower to remain calm. Micah was just trying to make her mad like he so often did. She physically bit her tongue until the urge to curse at him had passed. "How flattering. Just trying to be nice, Micah. Is that so hard to believe?"
He tosses the glass bottle nearby, it shatters. The broken glass sits in the middle of camp, asking to be stepped on with a white glare caused by the full moon. "Because women like you are too stubborn to change their mind. I know your type. You're just waiting till I say something stupid, so you can run off and tell everybody. Well, I ain't gonna say nothing, you're wasting your time." He got up and walked away. Ana rolled her eyes, she'd have to tell Dutch now, there was no other way. She couldn't let him ruin the bank job, if she was right about his intentions, he'd tell the law about everything. The Pinkertons would never waste the chance to catch the gang stealing all that money.
Ana got up, brushing the nonexistent dirt off her pants. It was getting late, too late to think clearly, or was that the drink hitting her when she stood? She couldn't tell. A sharp pain stung like a bee when she began walking. A shard of glass had pierced her thin leather boot. It didn't cross her mind to watch her step. She winces, lowering herself to the ground. Her whimper caught the attention of a nearby John, who dropped a stick he was sharpening to see what happened. He kneels by her side, taking her foot in his hand.
"Clumsy girl. You gotta learn to be more careful." Ana squints, looking aggravated even though she's in pain.
"Shut up, Marston! Ain't my fault no one taught you boys how to dispose of glass properly!" She pulls on the overgrown grass to suppress the agony.
John wheezes. He found her reaction funny after drinking an unreasonable amount of rum. "Alright, I'll help you cause I owe you one. Next time you gotta look where you're heading."
He tended to her wound with all the focus he could muster. Tenderly sliding off her boot, smoothly removing the small piece of glass while she pulled grass out from the dirt, pouring the last drop of rum on her cut and wrapping her foot with some cloth. It hurt like a venomous snake bite, but she was relieved to have it taken care of. John held onto her as they walked. He gave her some whiskey to send her to sleep.
She sipped on the bottle that made her throat tingle. "What would I do without you, Marston?"
He looked down at the woman who clung to him as if her life depended on it. He didn't mind, her warm body reddened his cheeks and loosened his mind. "I reckon someone else would've come if I wasn't there. And you could take care of yourself if you had to." He grunts softly while carrying her up the stairs.
She hums to herself, eyeing his door instead of her own. "That was my way of saying thank you… but thank you, really." They look at each other at the same time, enveloped by one another's scent. Ana locks her lips onto his neck, impulsively kissing his scratchy skin. He wanted her closer, to feel her soft bare skin against every inch of his body. The memorable sound of Dutch speaking could now be heard throughout the whole house. It stopped him from going any further. He pulls away sweetly and kisses her cheek.
"Let's get you to bed, Ana."
The next day…
Dutch was standing on the dock when Ana knew it was time to expose Micah's plans. The bank robbery was planned for the following morning. There was an excitement in the air, like children waiting for Christmas. She needed to at least warn him in case something goes wrong, which would happen if Micah had half a brain. There was also the chance he'd back down if Dutch grew suspicious of him. Ana was also prepared for Dutch to completely reject such an accusation, he may even force her to leave.
She stomped over to him with confidence, her arms swinging by her sides. Dutch heard her coming, he greeted her with a glint in his eyes and a lazy smile. "You look like you have something to say, Miss Fetcher."
Her breath was shaky, it made it difficult to speak without stuttering. "Again with the formalities? And y-yes, I do gotta say something. It's real important, promise me you'll listen?"
He slapped his book shut. Repeating the last sentence he read in his head. Trust those with heart, dismiss those without one. He took a few strides closer to the woman whose face he'd memorized daily since they met. "Come on then, out with it. You ain't got no reason to be shy."
She maintained eye contact despite all her reservations. An inability to articulate herself could be interpreted as lying, so she spoke slowly. "Micah is up to something, I know it in my bones, Dutch. Colm knew about you and me. He was the one who insisted you meet with the man. I-I think he was tryin' to get rid of me. Now, I wasn't gonna come to you without some sort of proof," she dug her hand into her satchel, revealing the crumpled piece of paper with the gang's bounties on it. Dutch stares at it blankly. "Everything's been going to shit cause Micah is jacking up our bounties till he can turn us into the law and walk away rich."
Dutch's silence was unbearable. He was tense, confused and disturbed. He slipped the note in his back pocket, nodding like a man who's not grasping the seriousness of a situation. "I figured someone was going behind our backs, but that don't mean it's Micah. Could be John for all I know. This don't prove nothing."
Ana ran her fingers through her hair, exhaling with a heavy weight of frustration. It didn't come as a shock that Dutch would need further convincing. "What does John have to gain from this? I found the damn page in Micah's journal!"
Dutch looked at her as if she was half-crazed. "Micah don't write, Ana." His dismissive tone was starting to piss her off. She could feel her cheeks and ears turning a shade of bright red.
"He lied to you, all he's been doing is lying. And he will be the downfall of this family if you don't believe me."
The air was still and silent besides the distant chatter coming from camp. Dutch approaches her, grabbing her firmly by the back of her neck and pressing his thumb onto her cheek. "It ain't no one's place to tell me who they think is manipulating me. I know someone is doing something, and I assure you I will find the culprit once we're gone from this wretched place. But now ain't the time to hunt down a traitor. Have some goddamn faith, would you? Leave Micah be, he ain't doing you no harm."
She spoke, her voice smooth but powerful. Their personalities were clashing, like fire and ice. Completely opposite elements that have the potential to inflict extreme harm. "How can you ask the people you love to have faith in you when you don't even trust them? Believe what you will about Micah, if people die it's on you."
He releases her as if she's a nuisance at this moment. The stress had never weighed him down so much. No one had ever challenged him this way, besides Hosea. A shattered pride led him to ignorance. The kind of ignorance that strips you of logic and compassion. Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end for the Van der Linde gang. Fate once set in stone is not easy to break. In spite of all her fears and doubts, Ana never questions her own strength. The fading words of her mother echo throughout her mind, rippling in a pattern that she was desperately holding onto.
A man's pride is sort of like loading cargo on a horse. Too much burden and it collapses, Ana. When a feller can keep his legs sturdy and straight while the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, then you've found yourself a keeper.
The next morning…
I had no trouble waking up since I'd spent the night outside. I'd forgotten what it's like to be woken by the forceful glare of the sun. It was a hot, humid day in Lemoyne, the sort of weather you become accustomed to in the south. How I long for the cold mornings of Strawberry. The cups of coffee warming your insides and fingers instead of adding to the heat. It was the day of the bank job, or what Dutch likes to call 'one last score'. It's like he's writing some fantasy book that needs an epic ending. I'd told Arthur about his response to the Micah situation yesterday, he was unshaken, to say the least. We both saw his dismissal coming, yet I'd still wished for more. Maybe he'll at least keep it in mind if something goes terribly wrong today. All I can do is tag along and protect the gang. God knows they'll need it while robbing that enormous bank.
We're surely leaving soon, I slipped on a fancy pink dress I'd bought for the occasion. It made me look like a preacher's daughter. How ironic. Arthur burst through the front door, tugging at his suit uncomfortably. He motions for me to join him.
"You wanna ride with me?" he asks.
I passively shrug. "Ain't we all riding together?" I spot Abigail and Hosea departing in some fancy wagon before everyone else. No one's told me any details about this master distraction, all Hosea said was that we'll know it when we see it.
Arthur scratches the back of his neck. "Folk in Saint Denis ain't used to seeing a well-dressed lady riding on her own. You'll be safer with me." He's right. Now ain't the time to attract unnecessary attention. We hop on his impressive black steed. His horse is truly a magnificent creature compared to mine. John sends me a baffled look as we start riding.
"You better not get yourself hurt, that foot of yours has barely healed." I wave off his concern before someone overhears. A cut isn't going to stop me from getting in on the action.
"I'll be fine. There ain't no rest for the wicked, Marston." I wiggle my eyebrows at him, tipping the fancy floral hat I wore. We ride right behind Dutch, who hasn't spoken a word to me so far. Probably because arguing is a distraction no one needs right now.
"This is it, my friends, the last one." Dutch sounds proud, his posture is confident, just like the day we met.
John audibly scoffs in return. I can almost hear him rolling his brown eyes. "Where have we heard that before?"
"What has happened to you, John? You've lost all your heart." Dutch's shoulders tense. I picture the scowl on his face.
"Would the two of you just save it for later? We can debate matters of the heart once we execute the goddamn plan. Fighting is failure's ultimate fuel," I say bluntly.
Dutch's shoulders drop, I'd quoted a novel he'd lent me a while back. The sound of my voice must've taken him by surprise. He finally addresses my presence. "She… she's right. Let's go over the plan, one last time. Hosea and Abigail draw out the police, we go in calm and fast. John, Lenny and Anastasia will secure the front doors. Javier takes the side exit. Bill, Micah and Charles, control the crowd. Arthur and me deal with the bank manager and vault. Got it?" Everyone answers with their own version of acknowledgement. "Any trouble, you head back to camp and we'll leave in a few days. This is it, cowpokes, one more time!" His voice cracks with passion, I hold onto Arthur as his horse begins to gallop.
The ride in is quick and quiet. We hitch our horses across the street from the bank, acting natural while we wait for Hosea's distraction. John seems to be the most nervous of us all. "Looks like there's law over on the other side," he said to no one in particular.
I sneak a hand onto his lower back, hoping to offer him some sort of comfort through my discreet caress. I whisper into his ear, "I'll watch your back if you watch mine?"
He smiles knowingly, "Always." We separate when Dutch turns to us.
"Have a modicum of faith, John, will you please? Soon as we get out, load everything onto the wagon Bill rode in on," Dutch says while scanning the area, a cigar between his fingers. The waiting is painful, seconds felt like hours. When I'm about to question the timing, the ground shakes, a cloud of black smoke rises from a building down the street. Dutch snickers in amazement. "Love that Hosea, he's a true artist."
We cross the street in a hurry, pulling up our masks while we do so. John, Lenny and I stop in front of the main entrance while everyone else enters. The shouting, screaming and shooting don't take longer than a few seconds to start. The streets are chaos, fearful men and women were running away from the explosion. No one notices a few armed outlaws with guns outside the bank. This plan could actually work.
I turn to John, "See anything?" More shots fired inside, guess the manager isn't being too cooperative.
He looks around the corner, seeming shocked that no one has seen us. "No… no. We might actually be alright. Anything on the right?"
I squint when I see something moving, but it's just a street cat. "Nope. If we get through this unharmed Mr. M, drinks are on me." He chuckles nervously. Bill's voice has a growl to it when he demands the vault code.
In the corner of my eye, I see a man approaching us in a suit. When I turn to fully look, he's sprinting, followed by another dozen men. My eyes widen with panic. "Boys, someone's coming!"
John looks through the scope of his rifle. He shouts so that everyone can hear. "We got trouble! Looks like the law!" He pushes me inside, we take cover by the door. I move next to a window to see what's going on. I hold onto my gun with sweaty hands. When I take a look, Agent Moron has Hosea bent over with a gun to his head. Micah set us up, just as I expected he would. I should've done more, refused to let them go. Now Hosea will die because I didn't do enough.
"Dutch, get out here, get out here now!" Milton shoves the gun closer to Hosea's skull with every word. My heart is on the brink of exploding.
Dutch knowingly looks to me, then back to the window. He is torn. If he walks out there, he will die, if he stays, Hosea is done. He begins a speech; his voice is shaky. "Mr. Milton… let my friend go. Or folks are gonna get shot unnecessarily."
Milton mocks him with a laugh. "Your friend? Ha, why would I do that?" I can't willingly watch this happen. Something needs to be done, and if I die then so be it. I charge towards the exit, ignoring the hand and shouting that attempt to stop me from leaving. When I make an appearance outside, Milton is utterly shocked. He hesitates before speaking.
"That you, Miss Fetcher? I asked for Dutch and he sends you in his place? What a coward." I toss my weapons to the ground, Hosea looks at me with sorrowful eyes. He's already mourning my death.
"Let that man go, Milton. I'll come with you instead, you have my word." I begin slowly walking towards the Pinkertons, who have every gun fixated on me. One wrong move and we'll both die.
"Why?" His question was one I had prepared to answer, I spoke plainly in return.
"My friends back there are dangerous men. You ain't catching them today, so take me. At least that way you ain't leaving emptyhanded." He takes a moment to think before releasing Hosea, no one fires. I shove the older man towards the door before his men grab me, pulling me away before anyone has the chance to shoot them. The firefight begins instantaneously, my name can be heard being shouted through the streets. They shove me onto the cement ground, binding me with rope.
I've just gotten myself into a heap of trouble.
A/N: this took super long to release, I'm sorry! I've been working out where the story is heading, and I've got a pretty good sense of direction now. I hope you guys don't find Ana being kidnapped twice a bit of an overkill, it does make sense because anyone connected to the gang is in danger. Her relationship with Dutch makes her a target, simple as that. Thank you for the support, I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own RDR.