The cell door slammed shut and the key screeched locked as Isaac dropped to the dirty cot, as heavy as his grief. He was so close to finding his father but now he was going to hang instead.
His morose thoughts turned to the likely fate of his horse. Too old for much of anything besides the glue factory.
"damn." he whispered bitterly.
"You're telling me." A thin man from the cell next to him agreed. "What you in er for?"
Isaac continued to stare up at the dusty corner of the shabby cell. "Murder," he admitted. There was no use protesting the charges.
"I see." the man mumbled, drifting to the other side of his cell. "Well, if your gonna just admit it like that, no wonder you got caught."
Isaac's cot cried as he rolled over and sighed, deep and resigned.
He had so far failed at everything in life. Protecting his mother, finding his father. He'd never even done anything noteworthy. He lacked any special talent or redeeming quality. He was truly a waste of space. Isaac let himself drown in his depression as people came in and out of the Sheriff's office. Food without smell was placed on the floor for him but it remained untouched, except by the bold rat who ventured to the middle of the room to feast on the hard bread roll.
A man had entered the office and was chatting amicably with the Sheriff as Isaac began to drift off. Tho a muffled shout had him bolted upright quickly enough. He turned just in time to see a stranger in a black duster pull out a knife and ram it up through the Sheriffs skull, through the fleshy part of the throat.
The barbaric act caused a fountain of red to spray and coat the Sheriff's desk completely. The two men struggled a moment longer till the Sheriff succumbed to his blood loss and grew slack. His eyes, frozen wide, frightened and bulging in shocked horror before collapsing in a puddle of rippling blood.
"Alright fellas." The murder began, stripping himself of the drenched duster and dropping it on the floor with a wet plop. He sauntered over to lean against the bars of their prison, like he owned the place. And for the time being, he did. His mustache hung like an uninspired ball sack and his face was just as appealing.
"How'd you boys like to be millionaires?" he offered. "See, I'm in the market for some loyal recruits to help me get the biggest score of our lives and I need fellas like yourselves." He paused, letting his offer sink in. "I already have-"
"How?" The other inmate ventured recklessly cutting the stranger off.
"Ever hear of the Blackwater money? Well, I know where it is. All you have to do is help me get it by collecting on a few bounties. Then we split the reward and go our separate ways."
"What's the catch?" Isaac asked with suspicious caution.
"No catch, at all. All I want is loyalty. And since I'm here to save your rotten lives from the noose, I don't think that's too much to ask. But I can always offer my help to someone else. To others more grateful for my, hospitality. " He said gesturing to the murdered Sheriff on the floor.
"Good luck with the gallows." he laughed as he turned away.
Isaacs blood turned cold as he realized what the man was after. That there was more at stake than just his life. "The Van Der Linde Gang has the Blackwater money." He challenged.
"Your point kid?"
Isaac was at a loss, if this man left, his father was in danger. A target of this mans greed. He lunged at the cell bars. "Bring me with you! I can shoot and I have a horse. You can keep the Blackwater money, I don't care about any of that." His desperation fed his story and he filtered it enough with the truth so that honest conviction would prove his sincerity. "All I care about is finding Arthur Morgan, the man who killed my mother."
"What's your name boy?" the man asked walking back. His hand slowly pulling out the keys he'd managed to snag off the sheriff's desk.
"Isaac..." He froze, there was no way of knowing how much this man knew about the Van Der Linde gang. Especially if he knew them well enough to know how to get the money. What if this man knew Arthur had had a child with a woman with his last name? If he did, then using his mother's name could get them all killed. So he used a name him mother said was only known to those most trusted inside the Van Der Lind gang. "Killgore."
A shocked expression passed the ugly features, quick as a twitch before settling into a sickly sweet false smile.
The door swung open but the man didn't mover to let Isaac pass.
"All that's left to do is tie up the loose ends. Rule number one of being an outlaw, don't leave any witnesses." He fished out a small bowie knife and slid it into Isaac's slackened palm. "come on boy, don't you want revenge?"
Isaac had killed before but this time it was different. When the cell door opened the man cried and clung to the far wall. Isaac stalked forward and tried to mirror the quick murder of the sheriff. A forceful slice through the trachea, up into the throat. The death wasn't as elegant and practiced as the other mans had been and Isaac tried not to cry as he smothered the sounds of the man's broken sobs and pleas.
Eventually, he stilled, just like the sheriff, his uncle and his mother.
"Well, welcome to the team, my boy." The door swung open and this time Isaac was met with a firm handshake. "Names Micah Bell. Glad to have you, Isaac." Micah grinned and clapped him on the shoulder ushering him out the door. "This your gun?" he asked pointing at the belt hanging up just behind the Sheriff's desk.
"Yeah," he answered softly, his thoughts elsewhere. When he was brought in the Sheriff had confiscated his guns and anything he had on him, including the photo of his mother. As Micah tossed him his pistol a strange numbness seemed to fall over him. He knew he'd never be able to look at his mother's face again, so tightening the belt at his waist, he left the photo behind.
As he escaped into the night, Isaac felt more like a prisoner than ever.