Dark Reflection

Chapter 19

"Hatching an Escape Plan"

by Lilyjack

Author's Note: Many thanks to beta reader/revisor and Doc expert Ladybrit. She made my crusty old physician sound like the real deal. And more thanks for the many glowing reviews - those kind notes always make my day. Sorry that I've not been faithfully replying the last couple of days. This working at home stuff is hard to juggle with my final big edit and revision of each chapter before finally posting. Hope you are enjoying all this drama and angst and that it takes your mind off your own personal drama and angst for a short while each day. Stay safe out there.

ljljljljlj

"You wanna…do what?!" Matt Dillon demanded with as much authority as he could muster with painfully cracked ribs and a swollen jaw.

Chester hurried to reassure his friend and co-conspirator, throwing his hands up in appeasement. "Well, now…Mister Mathias, don't go gettin' yerself all upset. This is just an idea that me and my friend Deke, we come up with over to the Long Branch last night."

"Oh, so you came up with this idea for how to…help Kitty Russell escape while you were drinkin', did ya'?" Matt screwed up his bruised face and cast his gaze heavenward, but the effort was rewarded with lightning bolts of pain shooting through his injured right eye. He managed to stifle a groan as he continued in a halting, low voice, doing his best not to slur his words even though his mouth was still swollen, "And I've asked…you to call me Matt Dillon, Chester. Jack Mathias is buried up…on Boot Hill now. I think it's best if we don't…even mention his name again."

"Sorry, Mister Dillon. Yer absolutely right. That shore was a good idea you had, changin' yer identity like that. I swan to goodness, you are a smart man, all right. Why, I never woulda even thought t'…"

"And Chester, who exactly is this Deke fella? What makes you think you can…trust him? And how long have you…known him? If you don't mind me…askin', of course."

"Why, me and Deke, we just got acquainted last night, but I can tell purty much from the get-go whether a feller is worth trustin' or not." He smiled brightly at his relatively new friend Matt. "Same as you trustin' me, Mister Dillon. You yerself never laid eyes on me before, but you decided to take a chance and trust me, right?"

Matt scrubbed his fingers through his hair in frustration, rubbed gingerly underneath the black eyepatch. This Chester didn't realize that Matt had actually known him, or…someone very much like him – it was all so confusing – for years, and Matt would trust him with his very life, and actually had upon occasion. He struggled to come up with an explanation that would satisfy his old friend. "I trusted you because you were…so sincere about wantin' to free your boss. I could tell…just by lookin' at you how upset you were. Not to mention you were taking a personal risk…comin' to us like that." He had to stop and take a few shallow breaths. Talking this much was taking its toll but he needed to make Chester understand. "What if ol' Doc had been a spy for Blackthorne? Yes, you were…you were taking a risk coming to us…so, Chester, I knew without a doubt I could trust you."

Chester nodded solemnly. "Mister Dillon, I…I think you must be a purty good judge a' character alright."

"But, Chester, you can't just…trust a man like Deke after a couple a' beers. You don't really know him."

An older man's lilting voice interrupted apologetically from the doorway. "So sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Dillon, but Mr. Botkin is indeed acquainted with the young man – I've heard him speak of the Bowman family on more than one occasion. Says he and his father both are hardworking ranchers in the area and quite trustworthy. Hails from very good stock… Ho, I made a wee Cowtown joke right then; didn't I?" Charlie Fitz stood there smiling pleasantly at them, a neat tweed jacket buttoned over his impressive barrel chest. He cleared his throat. "But, a' course, the call would be entirely yours to make, sir."

Matt groaned and slowly sat up on the small cot, which failed to fully accommodate his six-foot seven-inch frame. Hasty, temporary living quarters had been set up in a dusty, cobweb-infested underground wine cellar, apparently belonging to Dodge City banker Harry Botkin. After the long, uncomfortable wagon ride inside a hurriedly-built coffin the previous evening, Matt had been led from Botkin's abandoned warehouse through a dark underground tunnel to the wine cellar which Matt suspected probably lay beneath Botkin's house or at least on his lot. He'd been shocked when led through the stone-walled tunnel, spotting another tunnel which branched off in another direction. They were large enough for a wagon to drive through, and every hundred feet or so, there was a heavy wooden door, some tightly locked, leading to who knows where?

In his handful of years in Dodge City as U.S. Marshal, he'd never had an inkling of their existence. How could he have remained completely unaware of them right beneath his feet? Why had no one mentioned them to him before?

But then again, was this indeed his Dodge City? The very idea was staggering to the mind-existing in the wrong time or place, or both. It was all so unbelievable. What he had witnessed so far appeared to be the same as the Dodge he had left behind, before he'd made the Hays City trip during the sudden dust storm, but, granted, he had only seen a limited part of the town thus far. The tunnels seemed to be the main difference.

The people were what proved to be completely stymying–Dodge's longtime citizens did not know Matt and had never heard of him, not even his closest friends and confidantes, and that was a chilling fact that haunted his every waking moment. It was like Matt Dillon had never even existed. The thought raised gooseflesh on his skin, made him feel punch drunk.

And then there was the additional very urgent problem that the town was in total chaos with an outlaw claiming to be the law. What the hell was going on here? he'd thought as he'd blindly followed Charlie Fitz through the unfamiliar tunnel to his temporary underground bunker. It was as if his whole world had been turned completely upside down.

A dazed Matt Dillon had been in such pain and so utterly exhausted that he had asked few questions of his rescuers up to that point. He'd fallen into a deep sleep, aided by the absolute black stillness of the cellar. He finally jerked to consciousness only when Doc, carrying a lantern, came poking his head into Matt's cool subterranean lodgings to "ascertain whether his patient was still alive." He clucked over him like a mother hen, checking his vitals and examining his injuries.

"Ow, Doc! Watch it…will ya'?"

"Well, if you'll just hold still for a minute… Quit twisting your head—I don't have Ocie to hold the light for me to see in your ear this time."

Matt grimaced as Doc peered inside, using his special "instruments of torture," his patient grumbling under his breath.

"I'll have you know this sophisticated aural speculum tells me you're doing better but are still nowhere near up to snuff, young man." The old physician pierced him with a stare as he laid the instrument back inside his black bag. "So you need to stay in bed and rest."

"Aw, Doc, I can't stay in…"

"You most certainly can. You must!"

"But, Doc…" Matt sighed, actually more of a wheeze, and slowly leaned over to clasp his hands over his knees. "I got work to do. I gotta…get my strength ba-"

"No, you do not, Jack or Matt or…whatever your name is today." His tone became adamant. "You almost died a little over a week ago! You were very near to it. But thanks to my doctoring skills, you're still here to tell the tale." He swiped at his mustache and folded his arms.

Matt sat up straight at Doc's outburst, ready to argue his point. Although he couldn't help but think it was a relief that this Doc seemed to be behaving more and more like the man he remembered from his other life. "You don't…understand, Doc, I've got to help-…"

Doc pointed an index finger to silence his patient's arguments. "Oh, I understand young love perfectly, son." But the physician had softened his tone somewhat.

Matt's cheeks and ears instantly flushed and he quickly averted his gaze to a small spider skittering across the packed dirt floor.

Doc appealed to him, "But you don't understand that you could still die if you don't take it easy. Or you could lose the sight in that eye or even your hearing. Matt, you have a concussion and broken ribs that need time in bed to heal. Do you realize what you're risking?"

Matt stared thoughtfully at the floor for a moment longer, then turned to look Doc in the eye. "I know what I'm risking if I don't, Doc."

Doc pulled on his ear thoughtfully. He appeared to be truly worried about this young buck. He insisted, "You just listen to me a minute before you go running around trying to rescue damsels in distress."

Matt held up his hand in an attempt to avert the tirade, but it was no use, and he knew it. This Doc was too much like the one he knew so well from the other Dodge.

As expected, the old physician took no notice. "If the concussion doesn't kill you, those ribs are sure to. You go jumping around and one of those sharp broken bones happens to stick in your lung, you know what will happen?" Doc's voice was rising to a pitch that Matt feared could be heard from outside. "Your lung will collapse, that's what, and then you won't be able to breathe. Three minutes - that's all a man can live if he can't breathe."

Matt turned away; he didn't need to hear this because he had already made up his mind. But Doc wasn't done yet.

"Just look at me, young man. I know what I'm talking about. If that doesn't scare ya', let me tell you what's even worse. You could drown in your own blood. Yessiree, you could. And there's nothing I or anyone else could do to help. One of those ribs tears an artery and it will be all over faster than that." He snapped his thumb and forefinger in the air to demonstrate. Somehow, he got the feeling that his reluctant patient wasn't paying attention. There was nothing else he could do. He was afraid his words were falling on deaf ears.

Doc scrutinized the hard-headed young fellow who'd become his patient by what seemed like providence or fate, the man's oversized body brutally beaten but his gallant spirit unbroken. Doc compared his patient's wan complexion, his slow reactions, his shallow breathing, to the gutsy determination on his face. The elderly physician finally gave a slight nod and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Don't say I didn't tell ya' so."

"I won't, Doc." Matt Dillon looked at Doc with sincerity in his clear blue eyes. "You…warned me."

"I'm going to check on Mr. Botkin now." Doc pierced him with a steely gaze. "He always follows his doctor's orders."

"Mr. Botkin is a…better man than me, I'm sure, Doc. See ya' later."

Doc smothered a small, defeated smile by quickly swiping his mustache. "Farewell, Sir Percival. Just try not to slay any dragons for a few more days, okay?"

"Huh?"

Doc's only response had been a knowing shake of his head as he shuffled out the door with his black leather bag in hand.

Matt gave a small wheezy sigh, knowing he and the physician would never see eye to eye on this particular point. But at least he'd done his part at getting some of Doc's healing rest when he'd gotten so much sleep the night before. Only right now he was wide awake and eager to set to work immediately on plans for getting Kitty out of the Long Branch…and far away from Silas Blackthorne, regardless of Doc's dire predictions. That's when Chester had stopped by to share the wild idea he and his new drinkin' buddy had cooked up.

Matt's gaze shot to Charlie Fitz standing at the wine cellar door. "You mean Mr. Botkin knows about this plan already?"

Chester, raking his stick-straight dark hair to the side, rushed to explain, "Well, ya' see, Mister Mathias…"

"Matt Dillon, Chester."

"Sorry, Mister Dillon, I keep forgettin'. Anyway, me and Mr. Botkin, we had us a talk about it and…"

Matt's jaw dropped a little, astonished that Chester would discuss escape plans with anyone besides him first, forgetting that this Chester wasn't his longtime friend and associate.

Charlie Fitz observed Matt's change of expression and quickly explained, "Mr. Dillon, Mr. Botkin insisted on having a talk with Mr. Goode here before even allowin' him access to you, ya' see." He nodded in assurance, watching to see that Matt understood Botkin was actually feeling out Chester's character first, giving the young saloon employee "security clearance" during their little pow-wow.

"Yessir, Mr. Botkin is a right nice man, Mister Dillon. I hadn't had the opportunity to meet him before, seein' as how he was the bank president and I don't do much business with the local, uh…bank." Chester smiled ingratiatingly and Matt couldn't help but weakly return his smile, knowing full well that his friend rarely had two nickels in his pants' pocket to rub together, eliminating his need for a bank entirely.

"Mr. Botkin is playin' this thing close to the vest, huh?" Matt observed. He raked a hand through his hair, leaned carefully back on the pillows with a small sigh. His energy was fast draining. Matt hated being laid up in bed - he was anxious to be up and about, to start work on getting his strength back. He couldn't help Kitty in his current condition.

Charlie answered grimly, "Mr. Botkin has to be very cautious about whom he confides in. Silas Blackthorne and his man nearly killed him."

Matt nodded, his lips pressed into a grim line. "Agreed. So Botkin trusts…this Deke fella, huh? Suppose I need…to meet 'im then, Chester. But I'm not sure about your plan…with this horse. Sounds a mite crazy to me."

"Deke thinks it'll work just fine, Mister Dillon! He says he'll be glad to do it! He's good and tired a' Blackthorne and his men a' runnin' things in this town and wants t' git shed of 'em." Chester frowned as if agreeing with his friend's opinion on the state of affairs in Dodge.

Matt watched curiously as Chester's thumb absently stroked the mysterious scar that slashed across his cheek. He could tell the wound was not an old one and suspected that it had its origins in a struggle with one of Blackthorne's goons. The sight of the large red mark on Chester's face never ceased to startle Matt.

Matt focused back on the business at hand. "But, Chester, don't you think…the plan will work better if the rider is somebody…that's not from around these parts? Did any of…Blackthorne's men spot you drinking with Deke the other night? You're gonna be our man on the inside, and if Deke, your buddy, shows up on a horse…in the middle of this escape conspiracy, it'll throw suspicion on you."

Charlie Fitz nodded thoughtfully. "He's right, Mr. Goode. We can't have any taint of suspicion cast upon you whatsoever. You must be free to remain in your position at the Long Branch. Your companion Deke mustn't be involved. We can get a…what do ya' call it out here in the Wild West? A 'hired gun'! Yes, a hired gun to do the dirty work!"

Matt eyed the older man with amusement. "Charlie Fitz, I'm surprised at you. You're becoming…a regular outlaw."

Charlie Fitz grinned, his ruddy cheeks turning pinker while looking rather pleased with himself.

Matt added, "Hopefully our hired gun won't be…forced to fire his weapon, but he'll have to know how to expertly handle…a horse and be prepared to defend himself if he has to."

It was Chester's turn to appear pleased. "So you don't think our plan is too crazy after all?"

Matt's expression grew dark. "I didn't say that, Chester. But the situation…may just call for something a little crazy…to break through Blackthorne's defenses and get Kitty…out of that hellhole." He looked to each man in turn. "I'll do anything it takes."

Chester's eyes hardened. "I'm ready t' get Miss Kitty outta there, Mister Dillon. I'm good and ready..." His voice hitched in his throat and he had to swallow to continue. "I…I'm just glad you're here to help now is all. I'm real glad you're here…"

ljljljljlj

A single kerosene lantern pierced the overwhelming darkness as two explorers slowly made their way through Dodge City's underground tunnels. Lafe Whitcomb held the light aloft as Matt Dillon, his clothing drenched in sweat, breathing labored, leaned on a cane for support and balance.

"Sir, let's stop and rest. I think you've had enough for now anyway."

Matt nodded breathlessly, unable to argue. He leaned against the wall, then slowly slid down to a sitting position, clutching his side.

Lafe sat beside him, placing the lamp on the floor. "You're gettin' stronger ever' time we walk." He pointed to a tunnel branch that headed to their left. "I think that might be the shortcut we've been looking for." There was a small dusty pile of coal on the floor next to a boarded-up doorway, evidence of the fact that this was where a place of business or residence must have had their fuel delivered once upon a time. They had also discovered unlocked storerooms with dust-covered barrels containing long-forgotten items inside like nails, glassware, and whiskey. During Matt's exercise and explorations, the two had wondered why the tunnel system had since become abandoned.

"I believe…" Matt nodded, threading his fingers through perspiration soaked hair. "…you're right." He looked back where they had come from and at the direction the new tunnel would lead. "It looks like it should cross Front Street." He tugged the black eyepatch off his head, wiped his sweaty face with an already damp sleeve. "That should…save us some time getting back…whew…to the hideout." The ringing in his swollen eardrum became much more noticeable down here in the quiet tunnels. He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around gently to no avail.

"Are you okay, sir?" the burly young man looked at him with concern. "You know Doc would kill us both if you did too much. He thinks you're pushin' yourself too hard as it is. He thinks you should…'wait a spell before you go harin' off t' rescue the, uh, 'fair damsel in distress.' His words, sir, not mine, a' course."

"I know, son." He replaced the eyepatch to clear up his blurry double vision. "But I got no choice. Kitty's been in there…too long already." His voice lowered, full of regret. "I should've gotten her…outta there already."

"Yessir, I understand."

"Any word on our rider?" Matt felt somewhat out of the loop. Doc had tried to see that Matt was mainly occupied with resting and exercising, within reason, in order to be fit enough to aid in Kitty's rescue. He didn't think Matt was well enough to be involved in the operation at all, but Matt would hear none of that. He didn't like leaving too many important details to others, but he'd been working so hard on his recovery he'd had no choice but to rely somewhat on his "new friends." Fortunately, they weren't all actually new friends so he was confident in their ability to help.

Lafe answered, "Should be here soon. He's travelin' from Cimarron. Seems Charlie Fitz had a cousin who was acquainted with a man there. We don't know too awful much about this feller."

Matt practiced tightening and flexing the muscles of his right arm and hand. "What exactly do we know… about 'im?"

Lafe informed him, "We only know he's a 'Mr. Woodall' and he's good with a horse and with a gun. Charlie Fitz trusts his cousin's judgement, he says."

"I think we can trust Charlie Fitz. And a man…who's handy with a horse and a gun is all we need, as long as…he can keep his mouth shut. I assume Botkin is payin' him."

"Yessir. Plenty, according to Charlie Fitz. He's takin' no chances. And Mr. Botkin's willin' t' help any way he can, sir. He's got no love for Sheriff Blackthorne."

"I'll owe the old man, in more ways than one…"

"Sir?" Lafe scratched at his springy crop of strawberry blonde hair, then settled back to patiently listen.

"Nuthin' really, I…" Matt picked at a hangnail, one of the few places on his body that wasn't bruised or scabbed or broken. "I'm just grateful for all his help. First, he gave me a place to lay low, and now he's helpin' me… Well, he's giving me a second chance to get…Kitty away from Blackthorne." Matt looked up at the roof of the tunnel. "I really wasn't thinkin' straight…when I charged in there like a bull the first time. Got myself all…stove up. And now Kitty's paid the price – she's had to bide her time in that place even longer…because I reacted instead of thinkin' things through." He grimaced, glanced sheepishly at his young companion. "One of my shortcomings, I'm afraid. Sometimes…I just lose my head."

"You was just worried about your girl." Lafe kept his eyes cast downward as he tossed tiny pebbles at his feet.

Matt looked at the young man in surprise, wondering how much he knew, and exactly how he knew. But then he recalled Doc revealing that Matt himself had talked in his sleep while unconscious in the physician's office. He felt his face flush hot and was thankful for the relatively dim light of the lantern deep beneath Dodge City's streets. He silently wondered what secrets he'd given away in his delirious state.

Lafe continued earnestly, "You had a right to be worried, and I surely understand why you'd lose yer head." He finally gazed at Matt evenly with his shy brown eyes. "Miss Kitty, she's one of the nicest girls I ever did meet. I mean, I know I don't talk a lot t' girls and all, but…she ain't never acted like nothin' but a lady round me. She don't deserve what they done to her, sir."

Matt nodded wordlessly, quickly glancing away down the dark tunnel. He was astonished at the relatively long speech that'd just spilled from the usually reticent Lafe Whitcomb's mouth. Matt couldn't recall a time he'd ever heard the young man talk for such an extended period for as long as he'd known him. And it spoke volumes about how Kitty made people feel that she could inspire such a declaration from him. Matt swallowed the lump in his throat and was suddenly deeply grateful for the friends he had surrounding him, whether they were from his Dodge or not. They were good people.

Matt and Lafe sat in companionable silence, resting for several more minutes until Matt's breathing returned to normal.

Then Lafe cleared his throat. "So whatta you say let's head on back? I don't know 'bout you, but I'm feelin' powerful hungry. And you've gotta keep yer strength up t' rescue Miss Russell now."

"I guess you're right, son." Matt gave the boy an appreciative smile, clapped a large hand on Lafe's shoulder and used it to steady himself as he stood.

Matt Dillon was a sight stronger than he had been a few days ago, but he still had quite a ways to go. He couldn't remember ever being this down and out before. But every single minute Kitty Russell was held captive upstairs at the Long Branch was like a sharp knife twisting in his gut, a helluva lot worse than any physical pounding that Blackthorne's men could deal out, and that pain would not be eased until she was free from harm and safe in his arms once again.

tbc

ljljljljlj