Dark Reflection
Chapter 23
"Rescue"
by Lilyjack
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Matt Dillon stood bracing his weight against a stack of rickety crates beneath Ruby Moon's window, occasionally peering up and down the shadow-strewn alley behind the Long Branch. They'd been awful lucky so far. No passersby had chanced through, not even a wayward drunk, but their good fortune could bleed dry at any moment.
Drifting out back through the plank walls of the saloon was a muted medley of jangling piano tunes, boisterous laughter, clinking glassware, and continuous conversation that, under different circumstances, might've reminded Matt of happier times. But as they all waited for Chester to reappear, Matt was otherwise preoccupied maintaining a calm exterior in spite of the anxiety and impatience roiling in his belly and buzzing through his head. When would this torture end for Kitty? Was she ill as Chester had suggested? He was desperate to get her the hell out of there.
Restlessly, Matt removed his hat, threading trembling fingers through his hair, damp with perspiration. He was also determined to hide the pain he still suffered from his healing injuries. He didn't need Doc telling him "I told you so," after insisting Matt was not well enough to be doing this. But mostly, he needed to be capable and strong tonight for Kitty.
Unfortunately, their attempts were not going too smoothly thus far, and it was starting to wear at him. Earlier, they'd tried to rescue Kitty at the wrong window. This time, he thought, they sure as hell better be at the right location. He didn't know if he could stand to wait much longer, urgently needing to see Kitty, to touch her, to know that she was going to be all right. Peering across the gloominess at Deke Bowman, Matt repositioned the uncomfortable black patch over his injured eye, wondering if he would ever get used to the thing. He worried that he would have to.
Deke was sharply dressed as a gambler in a black bowler, starched white shirt, fancy, embroidered green vest, and dark striped pants. Quietly he remonstrated, "Dammit, Dillon, you'd best pull that bandana up over your dadgum face. Say one a' Blackthorne's men happens through here? Yer secret is out, pardner. He'll realize yer not pushin' up daisies and he'll hunt you down like a no-good prairie dog, not to mention that a few other people will be in a tight spot by way of association."
Deke jerked a thumb meaningfully towards where Doc was vigilantly sitting atop the wagon bench, nearly unrecognizable wearing borrowed, scruffy cowboy duds and a sweat-stained Stetson. The old codger had even insisted on leather chaps to top off the disguise. He kept retrieving his watch from his vest pocket, squinting at it in the pale moonlight through his specs, then scowling impatiently toward the upstairs window.
Matt sighed as he returned his gaze to his younger friend. "You're right, Deke." He tugged the dark blue bandanna over his face, not wishing to endanger the lives of Doc, Ocie, Lafe or any of the others who had aided in his death hoax. It had been Doc's clever plan to help him escape from Blackthorne in order to heal from his life-threatening and still debilitating injuries, but Matt's ultimate goal had always been to free Kitty from the outlaw's grasp. Hanging his thumbs in his gun belt, his attention was drawn back to the window above, while Deke sympathetically placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
The rancher's son turned and headed over to the wagon, gracefully hopping up to sit beside the physician in one fluid motion. He tipped his bowler rakishly at Doc, then earnestly inquired under his breath, "Is Dillon gonna be okay t' get through this tonight? I kin tell just by lookin' at him he's in a powerful lot a' pain.
Doc shook his head, adjusted his Stetson, and answered quietly so that Matt couldn't hear, "Your guess is as good as mine, young feller. If he'd a' been any other patient, I doubt he would've even made it out of his sickbed yet. I've never seen anything quite like it, this young man's recuperative powers." The physician gazed over at Matt Dillon staring up at the window expectantly. Doc's expression contemplative as he continued softly, "Or perhaps it was just plain old stubbornness and determination that got him out of that bed so fast. I just…I just don't know."
"So's he could bust Miss Kitty outta here? But that's what got 'im all stove up to begin with."
Doc scrubbed a hand over his lower face and murmured to Deke, "Yup, the minute that young man regained consciousness in my office, even beat half to death, Kitty Russell was his paramount concern. No matter how much medicine I gave him for the pain or to sleep, she was never far from his thoughts."
"Ocie claimed he called out for her in his sleep. Had nightmares somethin' terrible."
"Sometimes Ocie has an awful big mouth for such a little fella."
"Ocie worships that big man though, Doc. Has it in that fool romantic head of his that Matt and Kitty are long lost sweethearts from way back. They'd have to be since Dillon ain't from around these parts."
Doc considered the young man's words, absently tugged at an ear. "All I know is that Matt would do anything for Kitty Russell. They almost killed him the first time he tried to rescue her and that didn't deter him in the slightest from endangering his life again tonight. Oh, I warned him, but he wouldn't listen to me." He caught the younger man's eyes. "You look out for him, Deke. He's nowhere near well enough to be involved in all this business."
"I will, Doc. He's a good man."
"I agree with you, I do, in spite of the fact that he won't take the advice of his doctor."
"I hear ya', Doc. We told 'im we could handle it. We said we'd bust 'er out, we'd take good care of Miss Kitty, but he'd have none of it. He had to be here hisself."
Doc ruefully nodded. "And another thing, he's eat up with guilt, I'll tell you that. Guilt that it took so long to get to this point, to be able to rescue Miss Russell, I mean. He's been busting his backside trying to get his strength back - much faster than any other man would've been able to do it, but it wasn't fast enough for Matt Dillon, oh no…" Doc shook his head in frustration. "He might need a friend to talk to, Deke. He won't listen to me. He blames himself for leaving her in captivity all this time."
"Damnation, Doc! It ain't his fault! And, truth be told…" Deke declared, straightening the string tie at his neck. "I'm powerful glad he's here. Why, we wouldn't even have been here in the first place if it weren't fer him. And I don't think there's a better man t' have with ya' in a fight than the one's standin' right there, hurt or no."
A tiny smile curved one corner of Doc's mouth, and a twinkle sparked his faded blue eyes to life. "You know, young feller, you just may be right. I think Matt Dillon is the kinda person who brings out the best in all of us." Doc recalled all the empty liquor bottles piled in refuse barrels in the alley behind his office and continued with a tinge of chagrin coloring his voice, "I guess I should know. But don't you go tellin' him I said so…"
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"What the hell… is takin' so long in there?" Matt suddenly and irritably hissed back towards his friend Deke who sat murmuring quietly with Doc.
"Heck if I know," Deke whispered back hoarsely. "You know Chester…"
"Yeah…" Matt retied the bandanna to fit more snugly over his nose and mouth and answered drily, "…I know Chester."
Just then, Chester appeared at Ruby's window, smiling widely. Matt's face lit up, but all he said aloud was, "Speak of the devil."
Within moments, Matt and Deke both climbed the stack of crates, Matt more slowly and carefully due to his injuries. Deke continued upward, scaling the hemp rope to the second-floor window. Matt couldn't wait to get Kitty safe in his arms again. It seemed forever, standing on those flimsy wooden boxes trying to balance himself with his uncooperative limbs, listening to Chester argue with Deke. It was frustrating because he couldn't quite make out what they were saying in hushed tones – he was still having difficulty hearing in one of his ears.
But then he finally caught sight of her, in Chester's arms, dressed in a white nightgown and looking thin and pale and gaunt. Even from several feet away he knew he'd never seen her appearing so frail, and he also realized without a doubt that Doc had been right – they had a very sick girl on their hands. Her face was drawn and her eyes scarcely open, smudged with black circles underneath. My God, what had they done to her?
Suddenly, he registered Deke's voice saying, "…Here you go, Dillon. She's all yours. Miss Kitty, darlin', wrap yer arms around his neck and hold tight..."
And Matt eagerly reached up to take her, cradling her body against his own, astonished at how reed thin she'd become. Her light weight barely registered to his broken ribs. He wanted to crush her to him in an embrace but she felt so fragile he feared hurting her. Instead he held her as delicately as he would a porcelain doll and scooted down off the stacked crates as quickly as possible, relieved to get her back on solid ground.
"Kitty," he murmured in a voice husky with emotion, and he didn't care who heard. "Honey, can you hear me?"
She opened her drowsy eyes, just a fraction at first, until she managed to focus on the man who was holding her. But an expression of fear and horror overcame her hazy features, and she breathed desperately, "Where's Chester? I…want Chester. Please…let me go."
He was stricken to the core. "But…Kitty, it's me…Matt."
Her watery blue eyes looked on him with hate and terror. What could be wrong, Matt wondered in panic. She pushed ineffectually against his chest, but she was as weak as a kitten and finally closed her eyes tightly instead.
Chester beckoned softly from the window above, "Miss Kitty, I'm up here. I cain't go with ya' now. But I'll see ya' later, I promise. Mister Dillon, maybe she's scared a' yer mask, don'tcha think?"
Finally, Matt visualized himself in his mind's eye as she must see him right now, his face half covered with an eye patch and a dark cloth, swollen, bruised - a monster - like that devil who had hurt her. He could have kicked himself. Hastily, he jerked the bandanna down, stroked her cheek and pleaded, "See, Kitty, it's just me now."
But he was startled to find she had fallen asleep, or perhaps even worse, had fainted. He called to the old physician, "Doc, we need t' get her back to the house. I believe she's unconscious."
Doc stood and ordered urgently, "Put her in the wagon, son. Come on, Deke. Make sure you get that rope down from the window, and let's head out. Well, you heard me - what're we waiting for?"
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Deke hastily stowed his incriminating rope safely under the tarp in the rear of the wagon and leapt aboard. Grabbing the reins, he released the creaking brake as Doc clambered back to join Matt, already seated with Kitty lying in his arms. Now that he had her back, Matt couldn't seem to let her go. He reached up with a steadying hand as the older man awkwardly kneeled down next to him, the wagon lurching through the rutted alleyway.
"Doc?" Matt entreated with a glance. Kitty still lay motionless, her body wet with perspiration, soaking her thin cotton gown and matting tiny curls to her ashen face and neck.
The elderly physician began rummaging in the battered black medical bag that'd been packed in the wagon. Skillfully placing a stethoscope in his ears, he then lay the bell gently on her chest. Shaking his head and frowning, he reached to unbutton her gown at the neck to place the instrument directly over her heart. He sat staring into nothingness, listening…listening intently.
Matt, anxious heart pounding beneath his ribs, appealed to him again, "Doc?"
"Hush, son, it's bad enough with this wagon rattling around. I can't hear."
Matt found Kitty's hand and held it. Pale amber freckles on its back stood out starkly against her bloodless skin and seemed so small and frail inside his own. She'd never seemed small or fragile before. She'd always been strong and capable, and this was scaring him. He dutifully watched Doc, silent and still and waiting with patience that he did not feel. Holding onto Kitty's pale hand, the only movement he'd allow himself the soft caressing of his large thumb over those sweet, small freckles.
The elderly physician lay his stethoscope back inside the medical bag and sighed wearily. "I got a weak heartbeat, young man."
"Is she…gonna be okay, Doc?" Matt's swallowed hard.
The older man scrubbed a hand over his mustache, explaining, "I warned you…she would be very sick. I hope I can help her, son, but I can't make you any promises. I'll…do my best." Then he took her thin wrist between two fingers and a thumb to check her pulse, casting his eyes down at his unconscious patient, unable to face Matt Dillon's desolate expression.
tbc
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