CHAPTER TWO - Mouse Proof
He heard silence and felt warmth against a lot of his skin. Which meant he still had it. He slowly felt his body come back to his manipulation, a steady pain coming with it as it swelled in certain areas. Both shoulders, his hands, bruised legs, and all the pain left over to collapse in on his head into a massive, pounding headache.
Heaven shouldn't be this painful.
With a groan, he opened what he could of his eyes, flinching back at the stabbing light that shone in on his face. He raised a hand to shade it, only to see it wrapped with a layer of white cloth into a fist.
He was still alive.
But where was he? He heard laughter from somewhere outside and he pushed himself up, ignoring the pain and the spinning room as he lashed his head from side to side, trying to find his guns.
He found them on the bedside table, sitting on top of his cleaned clothes, which left him naked beneath the blankets and quilts that were piled on top of him, making him hot.
Looking down at himself as he pushed himself out of the covers, Jesse noticed both his shoulders were wrapped with bloodied cloth and his legs were covered in healing bruises and random wrappings of cloth. Someone's handy work to fix up his wounds.
Was he at Doc Mimms? He looked about the room, nothing hanging on the walls and no furniture. Except for the bed he was sitting in and a nightstand nearby. The room was cramped, the only available sense of space was given to a small window doubtfully big enough for someone could crawl through to get out onto the catwalk along the side of the building. Definitely not Doc Mimms. Zee had crawled out of that window more than a few times with Jesse.
Jesse's stomach churned as he tried to rise from the bed, and kept on doing so as he stepped out onto the wooden floor. Taking one of his 1851 Colt Navy Revolvers into his bandaged hands, he palmed on the pair of cutoff long underwear that had been laid on the nightstand and shuffled out away from the bed.
His muscles were extremely weak, beginning to shake slightly as he shuffled himself across the floor, grabbing his clothes as he went. He went towards the small window, forcing it open with his free, weak arm, reveling in the sweet, dry breeze that stirred the stale smell of the room.
But he paused as he heard light footsteps coming towards the room, pushing back the sickening feeling that suddenly swallowed him, he pushed his stiff body behind the door, trying to keep his head from spinning off his neck.
From the other side, someone opened the door quietly, humming softly to themselves, but stopped short when they saw the empty room.
A young woman sauntered in with hips habitually weaving beneath a long, pouting bussel tail ribbon, carrying a large pot filled with water against her hip, getting her side a little wet. She was tall, her long, lithe legs wrapped in black fishnet stockings while a light yellow corset donned with ivory buttons, lace rims, and white satin ribbons squeezed and morphed her body into a voluptuous hourglass shape. Her roving dark eyes were deeply shadowed with black makeup and a shock of long, jet-black hair fell over one bronze, naked shoulder.
She set down the pot on the floor as she opened the door further, closing Jesse in unseen against the wall. She craned her neck to see if he had somehow fallen out of the bed. But then, she heard the whisper of the curtains from the open window and breathed a sigh of worry, hurrying towards the window, her back exposed to Jesse.
Pivoting on his heel, he came out from behind the door, flipped his gun over his finger and raised his Colt to the back of her head, watching her stiffen as the weight of the barrel made contact. All the while he was trying to stop the sickness rising inside him with the back of his other hand over his mouth.
"Blink once, you're dead. Blink twice and you're buried. Who are you?" He could barely get through the sentence as his arm began to weaken, the gun shaking and swaying despite the situation. He watched the expensive green-marble comb pushed into the back of her done up hair, the little swirling flowers stirring the sickness in him.
"My name's Velvet; it's all right Jesse. You're alright." The harlot said with her hands in the air, long, extravagantly tattooed fingers shifting uncomfortably; marking her as a commodity in from India, a rare and expensive "flower".
"Turn around," when she didn't, he commanded it. "Turn around dammnit!" Slowly, she did, and Jesse could help but notice the way the corset pushed up her breasts, exposing them to the light from outside.
"Jesse James," the strumpet whispered gently as he tried to blink away the spots in his eyes. "Put the gun down." She began to move her hands slowly towards him, but he forced the barrel into her face more fervently. "You're hurt Jesse, you need to rest."
"Shut up...shut up!" Jesse yelled, swallowing the rock in his throat, feeling the sweat run down his forehead and blinking it into his eyes, making them burn. "Who are---where am I?"
"You're in Cattletongue, Minnesota-" Jesse knitted his eyebrows in confusion before faltering with a gasp, his eyebrows rolling up on his head. Then suddenly, his body switched its weight without his approval, causing him to stumble forward towards the woman before he forced his weakened legs to work backwards away from her again, his back slamming against the door painfully. He forced his legs not to hasp and he shook the dizziness out of his head, raising the gun again.
"Sit down on the bed."
"What?"
"Just do it!" He yelled, forcing the gun into her face before she backed down and started walking backwards towards the bed, knees buckling as she hit the edge.
"Jesse..." she tried, but he yelled at her again.
"Shut up! Stop using my name-I don't even know who you are..." His face was screwed tight while forcing to keep the shaking gun pointed at her. He fisted on his pants and boots, cringing as he hit the many bruises and wounds on the way up.
"Turn around and put your face in the bed."
"Jesse...you don't need to-"
"Shut the hell up and do it!" He'd had enough, and she could see it in his eyes.
Obeying, she turned over on the bed and put her face into the sheets, and after checking that she wasn't peeping or anything, he stumbled around and gathered up the rest of his clothes, pulling them on as fast as he could, trying to not take the gun off her as much as possible. Once he had redone his gun belt and palmed on his hat, he went towards the window, forcing his leg out and with one last look to the woman before he coerced the rest of his aching body out of the tiny little box, narrowly missing a loose nail.
He was losing balance now and his legs were beginning to give out, throwing him awkward as he used the catwalk's railing to help keep him upright. His vision was beginning to blur too, and he could feel something wet and warm in his ear. Raising his hand to rub at it and bring it back down, he found the back of his hand smeared with blood.
"Shit..." he cursed as he leaned his body out over the edge of the catwalk, seeing horses tied up to the planks below. It was a long jump down, but he'd be damned if he couldn't make it, or at least try.
"Frank?!" There came a cry from the woman inside and Jesse began to lose control, raising his gun at the window and stumbling backwards to the end of the catwalk, his breath heavy and his legs useless. "Frank!"
Suddenly, as Jesse's back tilted against the rail of the catwalk from the sickness that pounded him and spun his body, out over the street, he heard a clatter from inside and saw a blonde bearded head shove itself out the window. It was a handsome face, strong and angular, kind of resembling him. Almost. Then he realized.
"Jesse?" Frank was shocked, his wide shoulders pushed out of the tiny window painfully as he saw his disheveled brother lean perilously, the gun slipping from his hand and clatter to the scaffold.
"Frank...?" It was barely a breath as Jesse's body gave out and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he collapsed backwards, up over the railing as he began to fall headfirst into the sandy streets below.
He heard silence and felt warmth against a lot of his skin. Which meant he still had it. He slowly felt his body come back to his manipulation, a steady pain coming with it as it swelled in certain areas. Both shoulders, his hands, bruised legs, and all the pain left over to collapse in on his head into a massive, pounding headache.
Heaven shouldn't be this painful.
With a groan, he opened what he could of his eyes, flinching back at the stabbing light that shone in on his face. He raised a hand to shade it, only to see it wrapped with a layer of white cloth into a fist.
He was still alive.
But where was he? He heard laughter from somewhere outside and he pushed himself up, ignoring the pain and the spinning room as he lashed his head from side to side, trying to find his guns.
He found them on the bedside table, sitting on top of his cleaned clothes, which left him naked beneath the blankets and quilts that were piled on top of him, making him hot.
Looking down at himself as he pushed himself out of the covers, Jesse noticed both his shoulders were wrapped with bloodied cloth and his legs were covered in healing bruises and random wrappings of cloth. Someone's handy work to fix up his wounds.
Was he at Doc Mimms? He looked about the room, nothing hanging on the walls and no furniture. Except for the bed he was sitting in and a nightstand nearby. The room was cramped, the only available sense of space was given to a small window doubtfully big enough for someone could crawl through to get out onto the catwalk along the side of the building. Definitely not Doc Mimms. Zee had crawled out of that window more than a few times with Jesse.
Jesse's stomach churned as he tried to rise from the bed, and kept on doing so as he stepped out onto the wooden floor. Taking one of his 1851 Colt Navy Revolvers into his bandaged hands, he palmed on the pair of cutoff long underwear that had been laid on the nightstand and shuffled out away from the bed.
His muscles were extremely weak, beginning to shake slightly as he shuffled himself across the floor, grabbing his clothes as he went. He went towards the small window, forcing it open with his free, weak arm, reveling in the sweet, dry breeze that stirred the stale smell of the room.
But he paused as he heard light footsteps coming towards the room, pushing back the sickening feeling that suddenly swallowed him, he pushed his stiff body behind the door, trying to keep his head from spinning off his neck.
From the other side, someone opened the door quietly, humming softly to themselves, but stopped short when they saw the empty room.
A young woman sauntered in with hips habitually weaving beneath a long, pouting bussel tail ribbon, carrying a large pot filled with water against her hip, getting her side a little wet. She was tall, her long, lithe legs wrapped in black fishnet stockings while a light yellow corset donned with ivory buttons, lace rims, and white satin ribbons squeezed and morphed her body into a voluptuous hourglass shape. Her roving dark eyes were deeply shadowed with black makeup and a shock of long, jet-black hair fell over one bronze, naked shoulder.
She set down the pot on the floor as she opened the door further, closing Jesse in unseen against the wall. She craned her neck to see if he had somehow fallen out of the bed. But then, she heard the whisper of the curtains from the open window and breathed a sigh of worry, hurrying towards the window, her back exposed to Jesse.
Pivoting on his heel, he came out from behind the door, flipped his gun over his finger and raised his Colt to the back of her head, watching her stiffen as the weight of the barrel made contact. All the while he was trying to stop the sickness rising inside him with the back of his other hand over his mouth.
"Blink once, you're dead. Blink twice and you're buried. Who are you?" He could barely get through the sentence as his arm began to weaken, the gun shaking and swaying despite the situation. He watched the expensive green-marble comb pushed into the back of her done up hair, the little swirling flowers stirring the sickness in him.
"My name's Velvet; it's all right Jesse. You're alright." The harlot said with her hands in the air, long, extravagantly tattooed fingers shifting uncomfortably; marking her as a commodity in from India, a rare and expensive "flower".
"Turn around," when she didn't, he commanded it. "Turn around dammnit!" Slowly, she did, and Jesse could help but notice the way the corset pushed up her breasts, exposing them to the light from outside.
"Jesse James," the strumpet whispered gently as he tried to blink away the spots in his eyes. "Put the gun down." She began to move her hands slowly towards him, but he forced the barrel into her face more fervently. "You're hurt Jesse, you need to rest."
"Shut up...shut up!" Jesse yelled, swallowing the rock in his throat, feeling the sweat run down his forehead and blinking it into his eyes, making them burn. "Who are---where am I?"
"You're in Cattletongue, Minnesota-" Jesse knitted his eyebrows in confusion before faltering with a gasp, his eyebrows rolling up on his head. Then suddenly, his body switched its weight without his approval, causing him to stumble forward towards the woman before he forced his weakened legs to work backwards away from her again, his back slamming against the door painfully. He forced his legs not to hasp and he shook the dizziness out of his head, raising the gun again.
"Sit down on the bed."
"What?"
"Just do it!" He yelled, forcing the gun into her face before she backed down and started walking backwards towards the bed, knees buckling as she hit the edge.
"Jesse..." she tried, but he yelled at her again.
"Shut up! Stop using my name-I don't even know who you are..." His face was screwed tight while forcing to keep the shaking gun pointed at her. He fisted on his pants and boots, cringing as he hit the many bruises and wounds on the way up.
"Turn around and put your face in the bed."
"Jesse...you don't need to-"
"Shut the hell up and do it!" He'd had enough, and she could see it in his eyes.
Obeying, she turned over on the bed and put her face into the sheets, and after checking that she wasn't peeping or anything, he stumbled around and gathered up the rest of his clothes, pulling them on as fast as he could, trying to not take the gun off her as much as possible. Once he had redone his gun belt and palmed on his hat, he went towards the window, forcing his leg out and with one last look to the woman before he coerced the rest of his aching body out of the tiny little box, narrowly missing a loose nail.
He was losing balance now and his legs were beginning to give out, throwing him awkward as he used the catwalk's railing to help keep him upright. His vision was beginning to blur too, and he could feel something wet and warm in his ear. Raising his hand to rub at it and bring it back down, he found the back of his hand smeared with blood.
"Shit..." he cursed as he leaned his body out over the edge of the catwalk, seeing horses tied up to the planks below. It was a long jump down, but he'd be damned if he couldn't make it, or at least try.
"Frank?!" There came a cry from the woman inside and Jesse began to lose control, raising his gun at the window and stumbling backwards to the end of the catwalk, his breath heavy and his legs useless. "Frank!"
Suddenly, as Jesse's back tilted against the rail of the catwalk from the sickness that pounded him and spun his body, out over the street, he heard a clatter from inside and saw a blonde bearded head shove itself out the window. It was a handsome face, strong and angular, kind of resembling him. Almost. Then he realized.
"Jesse?" Frank was shocked, his wide shoulders pushed out of the tiny window painfully as he saw his disheveled brother lean perilously, the gun slipping from his hand and clatter to the scaffold.
"Frank...?" It was barely a breath as Jesse's body gave out and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he collapsed backwards, up over the railing as he began to fall headfirst into the sandy streets below.