This chapter is brought to you by the COVID booster shot that is kicking my ass. I need a nap.

Chapter 49: Colm

They strung him up by his ankle. His one ankle, which had long since gone numb. He didn't care what damage was being done to it. They could chop off his other leg if it meant letting his son go.

If Isaac was still alive. He hadn't seen him since they brought him down in this cellar.

Arthur kept calling for him, though. Even when they banged on the cellar doors and cursed at him. Even after they came down into the room with him and beat him, carved into the end of his leg while mocking him, and left him wheezing and bloody in the dark, it didn't matter. They already shot his son. What else could they do to hurt him?

The sun was going down. His head pounded, all the blood in his body having long since rushed to it. He swung awkwardly from his ankle as he twisted around, looking for something to help him escape. But then the doors opened, and Colm joined him in the basement, carrying a candle and plate of food.

He hadn't aged well. His greasy hair was gray and falling out, his clothes hung off his skinny frame, and the scar on his cheek, the one Arthur was proud to say he gave Colm, was still visible, even if it was faded and thin. But despite seeing the proof of his small victory against Colm, Arthur still felt dread at facing the man who once buried him alive.

"Arthur Morgan," Colm said. "It's been a long time. And here I thought you was dead."

Arthur shuddered, but he couldn't lose focus. "Where is my son?"

"What? Right to the point, huh? Why don't we chat? Catch up a little?" Colm said. He took a bite of his food. "How's the leg?"

"Let Isaac go. Please."

"I heard we did that to you," Colm said, setting his food down on the table with a candle. He grabbed hold of Arthur's leg, squeezing the end, inspecting it, all while Arthur pushed back against him. "What was it like?"

"What?"

"Waking up and finding out it was gone."

Colm finally let go of his leg, only to swing back around to hit Arthur with the end of his revolver, right in the ribs. Arthur coughed.

"What was it like, Morgan?" Colm asked again.

"It hurt," he wheezed. "Hurt, but I got better. Now, where is my son?"

"So, Dutch let you stick around?" Colm said. "Despite all this? Even though you can't make him money?"

"It ain't about the money, Colm. That's why Dutch is different."

"Oh, I know," Colm said. He landed a kick in Arthur side, leaving him to swing around even more. "That's what makes you perfect. As soon as Dutch gets my message, he'll come running over here. And then the law will get the lot of you."

"You grabbed me to get to him?" Arthur said, panic building in his chest.

"Well, we wanted to grab you at our little parley, but your gang never showed!" Colm said. "Lucky for us, you came riding north soon after. With your boy, too. Dutch always had a soft spot for lost, broken kids, didn't he? Though he better hurry. Your boy ain't looking too good."

"If you touch him again, I'll kill you," Arthur said.

"Wound is pretty bad. Might go septic, if Dutch don't show up soon."

"Please, let him go," Arthur said. "You want your revenge. You have me. Let him go."

"No, I don't think I will."

"You want Dutch to find me? He'll come. You don't need my son for this!"

"Maybe I'll do you a favor and put him in the ground now," Colm said.

He could almost hear the dirt hitting the top of the coffin, feel the thin, wooden planks pressing into his side. Cold sweat dripped off his head. "No, please!"

"Oh, I can't keep him away too long. I'm sure this will be a touching reunion," Colm laughed, before calling up to his men. "Bring him down!"

Two O'Driscolls came down the stairs, dragging Isaac with them. His son's face was flushed and sweaty, his eyes closed, the massive wound on his shoulder still open and bleeding. They dumped him at Colm's feet. Arthur struggled against the shackle around his ankle, reaching for Isaac.

"What have you done to him?" he asked, though he was scared to hear the answer.

"Not too much," Colm said. "A strong, young man like him? Would have made quite the O'Driscoll if my boys hadn't put that hole in him."

Colm kicked Isaac's shoulder, and Isaac whimpered.

"Don't touch him," Arthur snarled. "Just let him go! Put him on a horse. You have me! You have your trap!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Colm said. "Oh, Arthur. I thought it would be fun to kill you slowly, but the look on your face when Dutch and all your friends get arrested will be even better. Once we hand you over to the law and get our money, we'll disappear! And the best part of it? One of Dutch's own men betrayed him."

Colm cackled as Arthur tried to process the information. Someone betrayed them. Who? And why?

"Oh, Arthur, don't worry too much," Colm said, leaning in close. "Dutch will be here soon. And the law will be waiting for him."

After a few more hits to his ribs, Colm left Arthur and Isaac alone in the basement. Finally, Arthur cried.

"Isaac. Come on, son, wake up," he called, choking down his sobs. "Come on, please!"

Isaac didn't stir. He probably had a fever or an infection. Dying. His son was dying, and he couldn't let that happen. There had to be some way out of his shackles, something he could use to- there!

The O'Driscolls left a few items on the table near the candle, and one of them was a file. It was dull and tiny, but would fit into the lock. Arthur shifted and began to swing his body back and forth. He reached for it, and missed. Reached again, and got it! He shoved the file into the lock, jiggling it around until the shackle released him and he dropped to the floor. Hard.

"Isaac!" Arthur said. He crawled over to him and pulled him into his arms. His skin was too hot. "Come on, wake up! You've got to wake up now."

Isaac groaned but didn't open his eyes. Arthur hugged him closer, trying to steady himself. Then, he inspected his wounds.

His leg had a deep gash, but as long as it stayed clean, it hopefully wouldn't cause him any problems. Arthur tore his shirt and wrapped it. Shoulder wound, however, was nasty. The edges were burned from the gunpowder, and the bullet was still lodged inside. Arthur grabbed the candle and, after some more searching of the basement, he found a box of shotgun shells. It would have to do.

"Pa?"

Isaac's eyes, dull and glassy, were open and on him. Arthur returned to his side. "Hey, I'm here. It's going to be okay. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"What's going on?" he mumbled.

"It's okay," Arthur said again. "I'm right here."

"I don't feel good," Isaac said.

As glad as Arthur was to see Isaac awake, he was hoping he'd stay down for this part. He ripped some more fabric off his shirt. "Here, bite down on this for me, will you?"

"What?"

"Please, do it," Arthur said, guiding it into Isaac's mouth. He picked up the file, stuck it into the flame, and sighed. "I'm sorry."

Arthur braced his hand against Isaac's good shoulder and shoved the file into the wound. Isaac fought and screamed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Arthur said again. He couldn't stop. He had to keep digging around for the bullet, eventually hearing a distinct click of metal brushing metal. He got under it and twisted the file. The bullet fell to the ground, but Arthur wasn't done.

"This is going to hurt, but it will be quick. I promise," he said, prying open the shotgun shell and dumping the powder into the wound. He hesitated for a bit before picking up the candle and lighting the gunpowder.

Isaac jerked, then fell back unconscious. Arthur dropped the candle. "Isaac! Hey, it's over. Come back now, okay? Come back!" Arthur pressed his fingers into Isaac's neck, relieved to still feel a pulse, and tapped Isaac's cheek. "Wake up, please?"

Isaac didn't wake up. Tears fell from Arthur's eyes as he pulled Isaac into a hug, tucking Isaac's head under his chin. "I've got you, okay? I've got you."

Dutch would come. Arthur knew that. He'd come, and get arrested. Arthur would probably be arrested as well, as an accomplice, along with anyone who came with Dutch. Which could include the rat. Who was it? Arthur didn't want to believe that anyone in the gang would willingly betray them. Was it an accident? Was it Colm just trying to rattle him?

He couldn't let Dutch fall into a trap. But what could he do? They were stuck in the basement with O'Driscolls, his wooden leg was attached to Boadicea's saddle, and Isaac was hurt!

If Arthur was alone, he'd try it. He would drag himself up the stairs, either sneak out or take out the O'Driscolls, and get himself to a horse. But he couldn't carry his son, and he wouldn't leave him behind. Either Isaac would wake up and walk, or Arthur would stay with him. Even if it got him killed.

A day passed, maybe two. It was hard to tell in the dark basement. All Arthur knew was that Isaac didn't wake up. He shifted and gasped for air as his fever only got worse. Arthur started screaming until his voice was hoarse for the Colm to do something to help. Medicine, cold water to cool Isaac down, anything.

Eventually, one O'Driscoll brought down a bucket of semi-cold water. Arthur didn't care of it was out of pity or to shut him up. He dunked the cloth into the bucket and wiped the sweat off Isaac's brow again and again.

Arthur hoped Dutch was nearby. Dutch had to know this was a trap. He would take his time scouting the area, maybe try sneaking in while the rest of the gang sat back and listened for sounds of conflict. They'd fought Colm before and knew what to do. It's what Arthur would do, except for the fact that he knew his son was dying!

Arthur jumped when the basement doors opened again. Colm marched down the stairs, angry and flanked by two of his men. "Where's Dutch?" he shouted at Arthur.

"What?"

"Get him up." The two lackeys grabbed Arthur by the shoulders. They dragged him away from Isaac while Arthur struggled against them. Colm shoved his revolver between Arthur's eyes and said, "Where's Dutch?"

"I ain't telling you," Arthur said.

"Why isn't he here yet? I took two of his precious gang. Why isn't he here?"

"I don't-"

Colm punched him in the stomach, hard.

Arthur wheezed, "You put my leg and a note on a horse. Not exactly a reliable mode of communication."

Colm laughed. "I suppose we could have sent some men down to Rhodes. That's where your camp is, isn't it? It shouldn't be too hard to find."

Right, the rat. "If you knew-"

"Your gang is worth more money alive," Colm said. "If we got into a shootout at your camp, the whole lot of you would be dead."

"I doubt that," Arthur said. Colm recruited based on numbers, not skill.

"Except Dutch don't seem to care too much about you. And the law is getting impatient. Now, I have a decision to make."

Colm holstered his revolver. "Take the boy. We'll leave Morgan for the law."

"What?" Not his son. Not his son alone with O'Driscolls. "No!"

"Sorry, Arthur," Colm said, still laughing. "We need to give the law something. A peace offering, of sorts. They will find you useful, I'm sure. They have ways of getting a man to talk."

One O'Driscoll let go of Arthur to pick up Isaac, and Arthur fought against the other. "Let Isaac go!" Arthur said. Begged, really. "Let him go! Don't touch him! Colm!

"No, I don't think I will. I'm still hoping Dutch is on his way, and we need bait." Colm gestured to his men to follow him. "Enjoy your stay with the Pinkertons, Morgan."

The O'Driscoll holding Arthur threw him into the corner to help carry Isaac. But he made the mistake of turning his back on Arthur. Arthur pushed off the ground with his one leg, not needing balance to crash into the O'Driscoll and bring him to the ground. Before the man could shout, Arthur snapped his neck. Then, a rope fell over his neck. Tightening. Choking him.

"Guess we should have tied you up, first!" Colm said as Arthur's vision went black.

He woke up alone. Tied up and gagged. At least no one would hear him crying.

He failed Isaac. He couldn't keep him safe, and now he was hurt and in Colm's hands. Considering what Colm had tried to do to him, Arthur didn't want to imagine what Colm would do to his son!

The basement doors opened, and Arthur prayed it was Dutch. He needed Dutch. Where was he? He should have come by now!

But as soon as he heard the footsteps coming down the stairs, he knew it wasn't Dutch. They were too light, too casual.

"Ah, Mr. Morgan, isn't it?" the man said, leaning in close. "You remember me, don't you? Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency. This is my partner, Agent Ross."

Arthur couldn't talk past the gag, and he didn't want to, either.

Milton didn't care about his silence. "We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other, Morgan. Don't you worry."