The force of the impact had caused an internal brain bleed and Isaac could do nothing to stop the hemorrhage. He could only watch and panic as blood dripped from his mother's ears. He passed a gentle hand brushing her hair out of her face and he trembled as he watched her fade. The pupil in her left eye was blown wide and inky black. The right seemed to dim as her gaze slid from Isaac's face. Slack, unfocused and distant.
He clung to the limp body of his mother as he sobbed. Open and wild, covered in blood. His broken heart scattered around him like the fallen coins of his mother's last gift.
He wailed and roared in agony, angry and afraid.
Long moments passed where his body shuttered as if touched by a cold brutal wind. Finally, he steeled himself and prepared a plan.
The first thing Isaac did was to place his mother's body back on the bed. The second was to dump his uncle's useless corps behind the house and unburdened it of his pistols and gun belt. Halfway through Isaac caught a glimpse of the bashed-in face of his former relative, the bloodied sight causing him to double over puking.
Coming back into the house he washed the blood off his hands. Then he methodically gathered his things, slowly and numb as the doctors promise flowed relentlessly through his mind like a mantra. "I'll be sending someone to pick up the body in the morning." That was only a few hours away at this point and Isaac had to be gone long before anyone came.
Isaac went to the closet and pulled out a blanket, thin and thread barren from when he was a baby but it would serve its purpose. He unrolled it and filled it with clothing and food before folding it up int a tube and wrapping it closed with a rope. He tied the ends together and threw it around one shoulder like a bandoleer.
He scoured the room looking for loose coins for several minutes. Checked the keepsake box and found a picture of him and his mother and tucked it in his pocket. He filled his uncle's saddlebags with food and medical supplies.
He paused at the doorway, taking one last glance around to survey the home he would never see again. He looked to his mother's prone form. Stilled of all movement with new death, and he left.
His uncle's horse waited outside. It was a horse he had always wanted but wasn't allowed to touch, ironic that he was now in possession of it. A beautiful 17 hands high reverse dapple black Stallion thoroughbred named Harlin.
The horse was old, 25... older than him by a lot. Age aside, the animal was still the finest things their family had ever owned.
With one final lingering glance back towards his home he allowed a moment of regret. Not for killing a man but not being able to bury his mother. He pulled at the reign and kicked the horse up into a high gallop. Leaving behind any chance of being found innocent of his crime. He was now an outlaw, just like his father.
He used his mother's stories as a guide for the beginning of his travels. Heading southwest towards Mexico. and paid close attention to town gossip along the way. Eager to pick up on hearsay of the locals.
The opinion of the Van Der Linde gang was conflicted. Some saw them as a Robin Hood band, outlaws with a noble purpose. Others classified them as a scourge of society. The lowest form of humanity. Isaac wasn't in the position to judge, so he didn't.
He spent the remainder of his time carrying out odd jobs for anyone who paid. Catching chickens for an old lady, mucking out stalls at the stables. All to earn a few precious coins so he could gamble them on a thick newspaper. Betting it may hold more clues for the whereabouts of his father.
Unfortunately for him, after the Blackwater massacre, the gang had kept a low profile.
He rationed his coins and food, kept his new pistol in better condition than his uncle ever had. He practiced with it occasionally but it was his horse that was his pride and joy. Any spare change went to spoiling the stallion.
It wasn't until several months later, coin purse and stomach almost empty, that he received his first real lead on the elusive Van Der Linde gang. LAST SEEN OUTSIDE OF VALINTINE the headline read.
Isaac greedily tore open the fresh paper, eyes rapidly flashing through the article as he meandered stiffly over to lean against a nearby fence. He devoured it's contents faster than any paper yet and his excitement blossomed as he realized Valintine was only a few days ride. His excitement peaked further when he read the sighting of Dutch Vander Linde was reported by several credible witnesses. He almost let out a literal 'whoop' when he read this had all happened two days prior.
Isaac felt giddy. An effervescent joy coiled inside of him, threatening to burst. Months of travel and searching and finally he...
"Isaac Montgomery." the Sheriffs voice rumbled and the distinct feel of a rifle muzzle pressed against the small of his back. "Keep your hands where I can see um. You're under arrest for the murder of Eliza and Joseph Montgomery."
Well shit.