Jo got the call first, she knew that with certainty. Her steadfast connections at the prison had never failed her before, and she had no reason to assume they suddenly would.
Hanging up, she turned back towards the conference table and began haphazardly shoving paperwork in her briefcase. "Judge Reardon, we'll have to resume this at a later date," she stated briskly, slamming the carrier and locking its contents safely away.
"Now, hang on a minute, Ms. Taylor," the judge tried to argue while waving a disapproving finger in her direction, but she was already up and out the door. His disagreement fell on deaf ears and an empty room.
She hurried up the stairs, taking two at a time. There was no point in waiting for the rickety elevator to make its gradual appearance. Bursting through the double doors, Jo strode across the Marshal's office, past the row of desks where Raylan and Tim sat, confused by her sudden and ruffled appearance. She marched into Art Mullen's office and flung the door closed behind her, giving them some semblance of privacy.
The Chief Deputy peered up at her from his seated position, hands hovering over the keyboard in their typing, frozen in shock at her unexpected intrusion.
"You're about to get a call," Jo announced, her fingers gripping the handle of her briefcase until the knuckles turned white.
Art appraised her over the top of his reading glasses. She looked concerned, which in turn made him nervous. "Do we have a problem?" He asked, taking off his spectacles, and sitting up straighter in his chair, alert.
The phone rang loudly beside him, and Jo sighed, knowing what unfortunate news awaited them on the other end. "Yeah, we do," she grumbled prior to Art picking up the headset.
While he spoke to the warden, Jo turned and gazed out the glass walls constructing the Chief's office. Tim was watching her wearily. His expression held the silent question, 'what's going on?' She only offered him a slight shake of the head, which did nothing to satiate his growing curiosity. Raylan, too, stared at her skeptically, muttering something unheard to the older woman seated at his desk.
The sound of the phone being returned to its receiver had Jo pivoting back towards Art. His brows and mouth were pulled into a heavy frown. "Well, shit," he expressed, pushing away from the computer and lifting himself out of the chair. He maneuvered past Jo, easing the door open enough to call Raylan's name, gesturing for him to join them with a crooked finger.
Raylan let out a huff as he approached the office, rubbing his face in exaggerated exasperation. Clearly, he wasn't expecting, not remotely prepared, for Art to announce, "Arlo took a shiv to the chest. They don't think he's gonna make it through the night."
Raylan stilled, his face pinched in uncertainty. His narrowed eyes shifted between Art and Jo, trying to determine whether they were joshing him or not. "Have Tim finish up with Eve if you want," Art offered gently, but Raylan swiftly denied the suggestion.
"No, I was almost done," he mumbled, fingers pressing into his left temple while he slowly processed the news.
"I was planning on heading down now, but I can wait for you," Jo suggested, knowing good and well her proposition would be rebuffed. Raylan's head sharply inclined to the contrary, and he began gradually easing his way out the room.
"I'm sorry," Art conveyed his condolences. The sentiment had Raylan halting in his exit. He floundered for a moment, eyes closed. His mouth fell open, then snapped shut as he searched for the words. "Thanks," he responded quickly and trudged back to his desk.
He could hate his daddy all he wanted, but Arlo was the last bit of blood Raylan had left on this earth. That meant something, one way or the other.
Art hovered in the doorway, carefully watching his problematic deputy return to work. "You want Tim to go with you?" He questioned Jo, though his eyes didn't stray from Raylan's retreating form.
Jo shrugged, she didn't see much point in dragging anyone else along with her. "I'm sure he has better things to do than watch me watch a dying man," she passively remarked.
"Well, let's leave that up to him," Art commented, making eye-contact with Tim, and cocking his head back in a come-hither motion.
Tim quickly rose from his seat and joined the pair, leaning against the door frame. Jo loudly popped the knuckles of her free hand with her thumb but made no move to explain the situation, so the responsibility fell to Art. "Arlo took a shiv to the chest. He's not gonna make it," he informed, repeating the reality for the second time in so many minutes. "Jo's headed there now, if you'd like to go with her."
The proposal lingered in the stagnant air between them. Jo's countenance and posture gave no indication of her preference; she just watched the adjacent wall intently and remained mute. "Yeah, alright," Tim agreed, making the decision for her.
The drive to Tramble seemed longer than Jo remembered. The sun was shining, and the trees swayed in the breeze as they passed, but her surroundings appeared dull to her now.
"You know, Arlo used to bring me things when I was a girl. Dresses he assumed I'd like, jewelry he thought was pretty. I'm sure it was all shit he stole, but it was something," she mused aloud. Tim had been watching her intently out of his periphery while he drove them to their destination, silently gauging her demeanor. She'd lashed out at him after Helen's death; he couldn't imagine the circumstances surrounding Arlo's would cause her to respond any better. Although, things had changed since then. They had changed.
"It's funny, come tonight, I'll be an orphan for the second time in my life," Jo continued, her voice and eyes further away than seated right next to him. She wondered if there was something more she could have done to avoid all this death and destruction. A small part of her, a part she was ashamed to acknowledge, considered that if Raylan had never returned to his home state, none of this dust would have been kicked up.
"You've still got Raylan," Tim commented as if it were some consolation.
She hummed in agreement. "Yeah, until he gets shot again." It was only a matter of time until that particular powder keg blew, and they all knew it. One can only live their life on the edge so long until they're bound to fall over it. Arlo and Helen's demises provided proof enough.
The infirmary smelt strongly of disinfectant, and it burned Jo's nose as she breathed the air in heavily. Arlo was lying in the hospital bed, covers drawn up high on his chest. The dim overhead lighting bathed him in an eerie glow, casting shadows over his aged face. His right brow was bandaged, and the side of his mouth stained with dried blood, remnants of the battle he'd engaged in for his life. The machines measuring his heartbeat beeped steadily.
Jo reached over and flattened his tousled white hair, so it lay flat against his head. The thin strands felt soft beneath her fingertips. Arlo made no movement, but she'd been warned he might sleep throughout her visit. Easing herself back onto the stool beside his bed, Jo wondered what she was supposed to do here. Other than watch him slowly drift away in front of her very eyes.
She started and stopped several times. When an expression arose, she thought better of it and swallowed it back down. Too long passed in silence until she settled on, "I don't know what to say here, Arlo. I was never sure if you liked me much, or just tolerated me for Helen's sake. Maybe I'm the last person who should be here." Her verbal contemplation was both for her own benefit, and for the benefit of the man resting motionless in the infirmary bed.
After a few moments, his eyes slowly fluttered open, but they weren't focused on anything in particular. The drugs were stealing his pain away, but they left him floating in a semiconscious haze. "There he is," Jo tried to sound optimistic in the wake of his responsiveness, but melancholy permeated the resonance of her voice. Arlo didn't speak, but raspy breaths emanated from his chest, and his face appeared pained by the effort each inhale and exhale required.
There was no guarantee he'd last much longer, awake or alive, so Jo tried to say what she could with the time allotted. "I know it wasn't exactly your choice, but I appreciate everything you and Helen did for me. My life would look a lot different if you never took me in, so thank you, Arlo," she whispered, watching his eyes dance across the ceiling.
For a beat, nothing more was said. Jo believed he hadn't heard her confession, remaining as unaffected and still as he was. Regardless, she'd said her piece, and there was no more solace she could provide than ensuring he wasn't alone when being shuffled off this mortal coil.
Arlo's mouth finally moved, muttering something, but it was too faint to hear. Jo leaned closer, her ear hovering close to his head. His flesh looked a ghastly gray up close. "You were a good girl," he wheezed, giving her one last glance before his eyes fell shut, and sleep overtook him once more.
Emotion swirled in Jo's chest, rising up to choke her throat, and she couldn't swallow it away no matter how hard she tried. She patted Arlo affectionately on the shoulder and rose from the stool. She needed air, and some escape from the fatherly affirmation she hadn't been expecting.
Tim was waiting in the hallway; his back pressed against the cold cement wall. His eyes rose to meet Jo's when the door audibly clicked shut behind her. She looked like a lost child, her shoulders slumped, and eyes brimming with unshed tears. She'd never cried in his presence, not even close, he realized. He wouldn't be surprised if she never cried at all, audience notwithstanding. Not one tear was dropped when Helen died, nor when Raylan sat unconscious in the hospital after taking on the Bennetts. Now, however, she was clenching her hands so tightly at her sides that the tendons visibly strained under the skin. Her nails digging into the flesh of her palms while she tried to fight back the urge to weep openly.
Pushing away from the wall, he approached her slowly, and gently pulled her into his chest, his chin coming to rest atop her head. He rubbed soothing circles into her shoulder, but her body remained limp despite his comforting touch. He'd never seen her so defeated, or anything less than composed. Her eyelashes sparklingly with unabating tears, he found her beautiful in her dolor.
"Jo," he spoke her name hesitantly into the deathly silent hallway, weary of breaking the reverberating stillness surrounding them. She susurrated in acknowledgment, but her eyes never lifted to engage his own. They remained fixed on the floor, watching her shoes lightly scuff back and forth against the tiles.
The compulsion to allow the utterance to spill from his open mouth was working in direct conflict with his brain, which desperately screamed that this wasn't the appropriate time nor place for such declarations. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued against his better judgment. "I think I'm in love with you."
Whatever reaction Tim had been expecting to follow his confession, it wasn't Jo physically recoiling from both his words and touch. A grimace contorted her features as the proclamation permeated her mind. Her thoughts tumbling uncontrollably like marbles down a staircase. She took one, two, three steps away from him, distancing herself from both his person and the unwanted sentiment he presented.
"You should leave," she replied stiffly, not sparing a glance in his direction. Her shoulders were taut, her entire body clenched, poised as though ready for an oncoming battle. Her face, though, remained vacant, and her gaze lingered defiantly on the ground.
"I don't think I should," Tim tried to reason. He reached for her, hoping to quell her visibly surmounting fury, but she shrank back from the contact, pulling further away. She met his eyes then, but the look contained within her irises was deadened.
Given all the mess she already had to deal with, he felt now was the opportune moment to drop even more worries in her lap? She'd have to plan Arlo's funeral. After all, he was busy dying in the next room, and god knows Raylan would be too preoccupied plotting revenge to be bothered with it. But, now he wanted to make this moment about them? Resentment bubbled in Jo's chest, outrage leaking from every pore like an overflowing pot. "You really should. I don't wanna hear that shit, and it don't help," she spat viciously.
"Just go," she seethed behind clenched teeth.
Hard brown clashed with apprehensive blue while she leered at him in challenge. The void between the two was insurmountable, and it threatened to swallow them whole. Tim's jaw clenched, she saw the muscles tick beneath the skin, could almost hear the gears in his mind turning. Even so, Jo felt nothing but contempt towards him for forcing her into this perilous position.
Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone?
Seeing her walls hold firm, observing her unwavering conviction, had Tim growing incensed in turn. "Why's it always gotta be one step forward, two steps back with you?" His tone was bathed in agitation, and he probably would have tried to shake some sense into her, if he weren't certain she'd duck his hands.
Jo only gave a noncommittal shrug in response to his question. "I guess we are who we are," she stated callously.
Something between a growl and an aggressive laugh sounded from Tim's chest. The insecure look in his eyes had given way to a severe stare. "If I go, I'm not coming back. I'm done having you jerk me around like a dog on a chain." Each word falling from his lips dripped with disdain, both at her for being so heartless, and whatever unfortunate circumstances had crafted her this way.
Jo's voice was cold and blunt when she told him, "Good. No one asked you here anyway. I was doing just fine on my own."
Tim's eyes were reduced to slits as he appraised her one last time, standing unyielding in her certitude, before he turned on his heels and left her alone. Just like she'd demanded.
He'd been foolish enough to believe things could really change. That people could really change.
Time passed without consequence. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but, eventually, Raylan came to bid farewell to his daddy. "Where's Tim?" He asked, seeing her alone in the infirmary, save for Arlo's broken body.
Jo barked out a haughty laugh, but no humor reached her solemn face. "You were right. I managed to screw that up all on my own," she repeated back the promise he'd spoken in anger all those months prior. Raylan watched after her baffled, but she provided no further explanation. Just patted him twice on the shoulder and abandoned the room, leaving him alone with his dying father.
I hate me too, you ain't special. However, this was always part of the plan, so bear with me. There's a method to the madness, I promise.