Dark Reflection

Chapter 32

"Altar Ego"

by Lilyjack

Stuck here taking shelter from storms and tornadoes, listening to the weather radio. I'm with my elderly parents—so we're all wearing masks to make the occasion more special. Sooo… I edited one more chapter and I'll post that sucker now. I got nuttin' else to do. 😉

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The air was heavy and close, the room drenched in shadow interspersed with flickering puddles of light. Amber-tinted candles crowded the floor around the bed, fiery wicks burned oil in clay bowls, releasing the musky, earthy scent of exotic herbs and aromatic spices. A man – an imposing, powerful man-kneeled before it all, the stump of a cigar clenched between his teeth. Here was the bed where his Señora de la Noche had worked her healing powers on his wretched, scarred flesh.

But now…she was gone.

In her stead he'd draped the flame orange gown trimmed in midnight black, the gown she'd worn when he first savored her curative essence. Skin so smooth, so silky, so sweet… Prairie wildflowers were strewn on his makeshift altar, scattered coins taken from the citizens of Dodge shone brightly in the candlelight, all offerings to the Saint. Smoky-fragrant whiskey in glasses poured for two were waiting amid the candles.

The man reached in his pocket, pulled out a fiery lock of red hair that he'd snipped from her head late one night as she lay drowsing, eyes unfocused, beautiful lips parted. He held it to his nose, inhaled deeply, rubbed its softness against his ruined cheek, invoking her name with a prayer:

Donde estas, mi Señora de la Noche? Where are you, my Lady of the Night?

He carefully placed the lock of hair atop the flame-colored dress and raised the two glasses of amber liquid in salute. Then he slowly streamed their contents atop it all. Folding his hands again, his coarse voice implored:

Estoy perdido. I am lost.
Debes caminar conmigo por la Eternidad. You must walk with me for Eternity.
Cúrame, Señora. Heal me, Lady.

The man known as Silas Blackthorne unfolded his prayerful hands, lifted the filmy cotton bedcovers hanging to the floor and peered beneath the bed. Earl Dangler lay on his side, hands and feet bound tightly. The stink of his fear filled the air.

"Well, Earl…" Silas drawled in his deep, raspy voice. "Have you decided to tell me where Miss Russell is?"

Dangler's eyes widened in terror. He emitted muffled sounds of desperation through the damp cloth binding his mouth.

"That's what I was afraid you'd say, Earl." Blackthorne removed the cigar from his mouth, flicked ashes on the floor. "But don't be afraid, mi amigo. They say that Death is only the beginning of your sacred journey…"

Silas Blackthorne retrieved the delicate lock of whiskey-soaked hair in his huge hand. He touched it to the glowing end of his stubby cigar, watching it ignite. With an air of finality, he dropped it onto the flimsy cotton coverlet, whispering another hoarse prayer to his Compañera Eterna, Señora de la Noche, under his breath. The bed burst into hot, licking flames.

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Matt was rudely jolted to consciousness by the sound of Kitty's cries, a keening wail erupting from deep within her that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He leapt to his bare feet in the shadowy room, stumbling and nearly snuffing out the single candle lighting their otherwise pitch-black surroundings. Unceremoniously pushing aside the sheet separating their beds, he staggered, sleep-drunk, to her side. Hair and nightgown damp with sweat, she breathed quickly and shallowly, her arms seeming to feebly fend off a ghostly assailant. When Matt's fingers gently brushed her shoulder, her eyes opened wide, pupils inky, expression a disturbing amalgam of terror and anger. He flinched as she scrambled to retreat from him.

"Don't touch me!" she growled.

His mind raced—what had he done? "Kitty…" He reached out a hand. "… it's me, Matt."

"I said, don't touch me, you son-of-a-bitch!" The line between cold reality and shadowy nightmare was indistinguishable in her wild, haunted eyes.

"I won't touch you." Hands aloft in acquiescence, he took a calming breath and soothed, "Kitty, honey, you're dreamin'. I won't hurt you."

"Where's Chester?" Her whispered plea lodged in the pit of his stomach and lay there like a stone.

"I don't know…" Matt admitted, his gaze darting behind him as he wondered the same thing. "I… I don't think he's left the Long Branch yet. He's usually back by now."

She crouched motionless on the bed for several long moments. Her lips moved, her words mostly an unintelligible jumble, but it had the cadence of a litany, and he could make out those words "hope" and "feather" again. Those were the words he'd overheard from Chester before as his friend sat by Kitty's bedside comforting her. Matt realized he was holding his breath, watching anxiously as her eyes adjusted to her surroundings and her breathing gradually slowed.

Finally, her gaze focused and her face crumpled.

Matt's heart squeezed like a vice in his chest. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. He reached out, coaxing, "Kitty, come 'ere, honey."

She angrily pushed his arms away and curled in on herself. "Get away from me! Leave…me…alone!" she demanded vehemently between wracking sobs.

Matt, helpless, impotent, lowered himself into a chair against the wall and watched her cry. He wanted to kill that bastard Silas Blackthorne with his bare hands.

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Clothing filthy and skin black with soot, Chester knocked softly at the wine cellar door near dawn. Lafe and Ocie, just as disheveled as Chester, trailed behind him, faces drawn with fatigue.

They detected a deep throat-clearing, a grunted, "Yeah…" and quickly opened the door to find Mister Dillon slumped in an uncomfortable chair against the wall facing Miss Kitty's cot. She lay curled in a ball, still asleep.

Chester had never seen her sleep so awful hard as she had since being sick and suffering those terrible muscle spasms and tremors. She could sleep through a hurricane lately, but he figured that was a good sign since Doc said sleep was a big healer.

Matt stood slowly, holding his side as he carefully straightened his cramped limbs. His expression turned anxious when he noticed their appearance. He silently motioned them to his side of the room, struck a match and lit a lantern. He murmured, "What happened to you three?"

Chester's expression was grim. "The Long Branch caught on fire, Mister Dillon."

"What?" came a scratchy, alarmed voice from the cot. Kitty sat up and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. "Chester, is it…?"

"Now, don't you worry none, Miss Kitty. We managed to put it out."

"Oh…" she breathed. She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. Kitty stood slowly as Chester hurried to her side to put an arm around her.

Ocie piped up helpfully, "It is an awful mess though, Miss Kitty."

Chester shot the boy a withering look. "Now, it ain't as bad as all that. It coulda been a whole lot worse. Why, it coulda…"

"What's the damage?" Matt urged impatiently.

"Well, it was purty much kept to the upstairs. Yer room got the worst of it, Miss Kitty, so it prob'ly started there. We boarded up the damage so it won't rain inside none."

Kitty's face was disbelieving. "What on earth happened?"

"Well, we don't rightly know, but…" Chester looked pointedly at Lafe.

Lafe responded, "I saw Sheriff comin' downstairs, outta yer room, Miss Kitty. Not long after is when ever'body startin' smellin' smoke."

Ocie offered brightly, "But we put it out, Miss! Ever'body there worked real hard, helpin' t' save the Long Branch. Don't that please ya'?"

"Please me?" They were surprised at her tone. Her face smoldered with anger. "That…bastard. He's gonna take everything from me before this is all over."

Chester tried to reassure her, "Now, don't you worry none. It kin all be rebuilt. Why…"

Kitty spat out, "I'm gettin' sick and tired of rebuilding. Men! All they do is take and take and you're left with nothin'." She fell silent, glancing at the gobsmacked men staring at her uncomfortably. She took a deep breath and offered an olive branch. "Present company excepted, of course." There were quick murmurs of:

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank ya', Miss."

"We knowed you didn't mean us."

Ruefully, Kitty mumbled, "Sorry. I seem to be flyin' off the handle a lot lately."

"You've been through a lot, Kitty," Matt softly replied. "I…we…understand."

Kitty gazed at the big man who'd sat with her through the night, mystified. She'd never met another like him.

Chester's expression turned somber again. "But there's one more thing."

Kitty anxiously asked, "What?"

"We found a body," he explained.

Matt exclaimed, "A body?"

"Who was it?" Kitty urged, squeezing Chester's arm. "Is Bill alright? It wasn't Red…?"

"No, no, ever'body's fine. We don't know fer shure who it could be 'cause they was burned too bad to tell, but Doc's doin' an autopsy right now."

Ocie eagerly reminded them, "But ever'body knows there ain't been hide nor hair o' Earl Dangler since the night you escaped from the Long Branch, Miss."

Lafe added, "Nobody's used that room since you left, Miss Kitty. 'Ceptin' Sheriff, o' course."

"Earl Dangler… You may be right." Matt thoughtfully rubbed his cheek.

Chester remarked hopefully, "Maybe Doc kin figger it out."

tbc

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