Chapter 20

The Escape

Catherine's tears had dried, leaving dim salty tracks on her cheeks. Her eyes had taken on a determined, resolute grimness. She was focused on the two people lying on the bed in front of her. Charlotte, from her position on her belly, stared back at the younger woman with relief. She could tell by the hard set of Catherine's face that her disillusionment with Wilde had not broken her spirit.

Catherine tested her bonds, working her hands back and forth looking for slack in the ropes and finding none; not that she really expected to find any. Fortunately, Jeremiah had not thought to physically tie her to the chair. Using her body for leverage, she pushed herself upright; a mirthless smile curving her lips upward.

"Good girl, Catherine," Charlotte murmured. The teenager crossed the space between her chair and the bed in three, slightly off-balance hops and then, pivoting her body, she aligned herself next to Charlotte's hands which were bound behind her back. Charlotte, using her shoulders and knees for locomotion, scooted her body over as far as she could to give Catherine enough room to lower herself onto the bed next to her in a sitting position.

Stretching her arms backwards, the girl could, with some difficulty, reach Charlotte's ropes. Straining, she worked to untie the knots Jeremiah made. He had tied them well though and after several minutes of trying, with no progress at all, she gave up.

"Here, let me," Charlotte said. "I tried not to tie yours so tightly." She pushed with her knees, rolling herself onto her side facing away from Catherine. This brought their hands even closer together. "That's better," she breathed.

"Hurry, Charlotte," Catherine implored. She could feel the school teacher's fingers, at first fumbling with the ropes, feeling out the knots before setting to work undoing them. After a few minutes, during which it seemed as if the knots were never going to loosen, she finally felt a tiny bit of slack work its way into the ropes. She held her breath, waiting, and could tell that Charlotte was holding her breath as well.

When the ropes gave way and one of Catherine's hands was suddenly free, she pulled her hands in front of her and yanked the remaining loops away. Tossing the coil of rope to the floor in triumph, she swiveled on the bed and set to work on Charlotte's bonds. With her hands free it didn't take more than a minute of fevered maneuverings to loosen the school teacher's knots.

"Thank God," Charlotte said, as both women began to untie their feet. She kept glancing at Heyes, worry creasing her forehead; he was too still.

Free from her ropes, Catherine returned to the chair where she'd been tied and allowed herself to sink into her own thoughts. Charlotte watched her with concern, but was satisfied by the hard expression on the girl's face that her experience with Wilde had not destroyed her confidence.

After satisfying herself as to Catherine's state of mind, she turned her attention back to Heyes, willing him to be all right. As if her thoughts penetrated his unconscious mind, he stirred. Still hurting badly, he groaned, a long, deep growl from low in his throat. As if resisting coming awake, he ground his eyes shut tightly, bringing his eyebrows down and together against the pain.

Charlotte leaned over him from her side of the bed. She smoothed his brow with her fingertips, "Hush, Hannibal. It's alright now; he's gone." Wilde was indeed gone. They had heard him ride off just a few minutes after he'd left them tied up, and they didn't expect him back.

Heyes relaxed under the cool touch of her hand. His eyes remained closed under smoothed brows while he breathed, deeply and calmly, willing to allow her to take care of him for a while, willing to allow himself the luxury of recovering slowly.

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. He cried out, one syllable, "Kid!" Before she could react, he sat up, white light spreading inward from the edges of his vision, blinding him with its furious pain. She tried to push him back down and he wanted nothing more than to let her, but using all the resolve he could muster, he fought off her hands, insisting, "No!"

She backed off, sensing that there was no point in trying to stop him from doing what he needed to do, whatever that was. He leaned forward, clutching his head in his hands, another groan escaping past his lips. Concentrating all his energies, he managed to push away the white veil that had descended over his eyes and with it some of the pain. "Damn," he growled, his breath catching in his chest.

"Heyes, please," Charlotte begged, "lie down. You're hurt. And Wilde's gone. It's all going to be alright now."

"I need to talk to Kid," he said, ignoring her. "Where is he?"

"I told you. The sheriff took him into town this morning. He arrested him."

"Oh…that's right, you did tell me that. I remember." He paused, trying to process the information Charlotte and Catherine had told him earlier. "What happened?"

Charlotte was confused by his question. She frowned quizzically at him, looking for clarification of what he wanted to know.

"What happened here this morning? Why would the sheriff arrest him? He didn't have any proof that we've…that he's done anything wrong."

Catherine answered him, her voice tearful and full of anguish. "The stolen horses—they showed up in our corral this morning. The sheriff thought dad brought them here."

Heyes groaned unhappily. He knew he had to go. With deliberate effort, he pushed his legs off the bed and let them drop onto the floor. He was still fully dressed and grateful that he wouldn't have to expend the effort necessary to put his clothes or boots back on. His hat rested on the nightstand by the bed, right next to the basin still filled with the blood-tinged water that Charlotte had used to cleanse his wound. He glanced at the pinkish liquid, suppressing an unexpected urge to gag at the sight of it, before gingerly placing the hat lightly on his head. His stomach churned, the pain in his head and the sight of his blood in the basin had made him more nauseous than he wanted to admit.

"Where are you going?" Charlotte asked, her voice becoming loud in her distress.

"I have to find Wilde," Heyes answered matter-of-factly, trying to push himself off the bed but not quite able to find his feet beneath him. He sank back down on his haunches, giving his head and his stomach another minute to calm down.

"What?" she cried. "You can't even stand up. How do you expect to find him? You can't ride, Heyes. You're hurt." She rushed around to the other side of the bed and tried to convince him to lie back down again with gentle pressure, her hands on his shoulders.

He resisted, "I'm fine," he said, stubbornly and a little sharply, instantly regretting his tone knowing that it would hurt Charlotte's feelings. He continued more quietly, "I have to go, Charlotte. I don't have a choice."

She sighed. "I know, Heyes. Kid needs you." She moved her hands from his shoulders down his arms, letting him know by her touch and her face that she was there to help him when he was ready to try again to stand.

He smiled gratefully at her; grateful for her help and for her understanding. The smile came at a price though, as the effort it took to move his facial muscles sent another shockwave through his skull and the smile ended in a grimace of pain. Once it had passed, he accepted her help, allowing her to pull him to his feet. The room rotated slowly for a few seconds but soon the earth stood still again and his vision cleared.

"I'm going with you Heyes," Charlotte tried. Her eyes pleaded with him.

"No." The one word was all he could manage as the room took one more slow rotation. After swallowing hard, he said, "You and Catherine stay here where it's safe. I can't be worrying about you right now. I'm sorry…I can't put you in any more danger."

Charlotte smiled, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She wanted so badly to argue with him; to make him see reason, but she knew that it would do no good. Her hands, still on his arms, clung to him desperately for a moment. She reached up on her toes and gently kissed his mouth, careful not to cause him any more pain. She whispered softly, "Be careful, Hannibal." Laying her head on his chest in resignation, she whispered again. He swore he heard her say, almost too quiet for him to hear, "I love you." Then she let go of him and stepped back, a brave smile on her face.

"At least let me help you get your horse ready?" Then she remembered Heyes' horse, already saddled and ready to ride, waiting for him in her stall in the barn.

"No, it's alright. I can do it." He took a step toward the door and stumbled forward as his legs refused to work as expected. She clutched his arm, steadying him again. He smiled down at her ruefully. "Maybe you should walk with me downstairs, Charlotte."

She nodded up at him, her smile at once sympathetic and concerned. She knew it was no use to try to convince him not to leave, not to go after Wilde. He was, after all, Hannibal Heyes, a man who had undoubtedly faced worse things in his life than a bump on the head—no matter how bad this seemed to her. She knew he'd do what he needed to do to help his friend, and she loved him for it, even though she wished he wouldn't.

The couple made their way to the head of the stairs, arm in arm. Charlotte sensed that Heyes was getting more sure-footed step by step and was relieved by this. At the head of the stairs, he paused for longer than normal, dizziness returning as he looked downward toward the bottom of the stairwell. He gripped the railing tightly. Charlotte held his arm on the other side. And once his focus returned, he started, a bit unsteadily, down the steps. Without either of them noticing, Catherine had fallen into step behind them, silently following them down.

"Well, see? That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Heyes quipped when he was finally at the bottom of the stairs. "Now all I have to do is find my horse and I'll be set." He smiled encouragingly at the women.

"I'll help you," Charlotte started.

"No," he answered quickly, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. "You stay in the house and lock the door after me. Make sure all the windows and the other doors are all locked securely too—just in case."

"But Heyes—"

He held up his hand to silence her. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, but I have to insist. Stay here—with the doors locked." He looked at her hard, waiting for her to protest. Her mouth opened briefly but closed again almost immediately. His mouth was set in a firm line, letting her know without question that he was not going to listen to reason. She shrugged, resigned to going along with his demands.

With a sweeping wave of her hand and an arch of her eyebrow, she gestured towards the door. "All right. Have it your way."

He looked at her suspiciously, not really trusting her to acquiesce that easily. He attempted an arch of his own eyebrows to convey his suspicion but he knew that the effort of raising even one would be too painful and he gave up on the notion before it was even half formed in his mind.

With one last warning glance, Heyes turned to leave but before he got two paces away, he relented and returned to kiss her softly on the mouth, enveloping her body in a reassuring hug. "I'll be back soon," he promised.

"See that you are," she said to his back as he closed the door behind him.

Heyes headed for the barn, proudly noting that he only stumbled once during the long journey to the filly's stall. He was momentarily confused to see that she was still saddled up and then he remembered—he never had the chance to unsaddle her. He mentally chastised himself for letting Wilde get the drop on him, but eventually pushed the useless thoughts out of his mind, leaving it clear for what was really important now—finding Wilde and bringing him back. He needed to bring the boy back so that he could 'convince' him to admit he was the real horse thief. That was the proof that he was going to need to clear Kid's name.

He had started opening the gate into the filly's stall when he glanced to the side. Two stalls down from the filly stood Prometheus, secure in his own stall. The horse was eyeing the man, watching his every move. Heyes stood still, eyeing the horse; sure that he could see, for the hundredth time, a distinctive intelligence in the horse's stare. He frowned, not unhappily but thoughtfully. He dismissed his thoughts about the horse, wanting to concentrate his compromised faculties on chasing down Wilde.

He pulled open the stall and grabbed the filly's reins. Over her back, his eyes locked on Prometheus again. The horse was still watching him, vigorously pawing the ground as if to attract the man's attention. When he knew Heyes was looking, Prometheus shook his massive head from side to side and whinnied softly. Heyes laughed softly, taken by the horse's maneuverings.

Before he even realized what he planned to do, Heyes uncinched the saddle from around the filly's belly. It took more strength and effort than it should have but by gritting his teeth against the rising nausea he managed to pull the saddle off the back of the horse. Then he walked two stalls down. He studied the big animal. "So you think you're ready for this, fella?" Prometheus snorted. "It's not going to be easy, you know. We're going to have to work together on this." Prometheus snorted and pawed the ground, gouging tracks in the earthen floor of his stall.

Heyes smiled grimly. He knew the horse was willing, but was he ready? He sighed, "It all comes down to trust, doesn't it." The way he said it, it was clear that it was more a statement than a question.

Two pairs of eyes watched Heyes ride from the barn. Charlotte thought he looked a little wobbly in the saddle. She frowned, worried about him going out on his own, into a situation that was sure to turn dangerous. After watching him turn away down the road, she let the curtain drop from her fingers. Without explanation to Catherine, she hurried to the front door.

"Wait, Miss Gray! Where are you going? Uncle Heyes said—"

"I can't let him go on his own. Something bad is going to happen, I know it!"

"But he won't let you go with him. He already told you."

"Then I'll follow him. He's in such bad shape that I doubt he'll even notice."

"You don't think Hannibal Heyes is going to notice that you're following him?" Catherine asked, a small smile playing across her lips at the absurdity of the idea.

Charlotte ignored her, pulling the door open wider. Catherine realized that the older woman was not prepared to listen to reason, so she followed her.

"Now, where do you think that you're going?" Charlotte asked.

"With you."

"No, absolutely not. You're staying here where it's safe."

Catherine lifted her chin defiantly. "I'm sorry, but I'm not! If you go, I'm going with you. My father is in just as much danger as Uncle Heyes is."

"Your father is in jail. He's not in any immediate danger."

The women stared challengingly at each other for several long seconds. Charlotte was the first to break eye contact. Sighing heavily, she surrendered, "Ok, you win. I don't have time to argue. We'll both go."

Catherine smiled thinly.

"But you remember—I'm in charge. You do what I say. Ok?"

The two men were on the look-out for anything out of the ordinary. The place seemed quiet, no, not quiet—disquieting. "Something's not right," Kid said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Caldwell glanced at the ex-gunfighter. His instincts told him the same thing but he was somehow gratified that Curry felt it too. "Yep."

"Looks deserted," Kid said, sweeping his gaze in all directions as he swung his leg over his horse and dismounted. The men drew their guns, insurance against whatever they might encounter in their search of the property. "Where the hell is everybody?" he asked, angrily. His nerves were frayed from the long ride out from town; his worry had built with each stride of his horse.

"Calm down, Curry. We don't know anything yet. Your daughter might just be in the house…Heyes too, for that matter. Could be they just didn't hear us ride up."

"Could be," Kid agreed dubiously. "Come on."

The men climbed the steps to the porch, first Kid and then Caldwell. Kid's heart pounded viciously in his chest at the sight of the front door standing ajar. He glanced at the sheriff, swallowed hard, and cautiously pushed the door open. Both guns were cocked and ready for trouble.

Inside, they listened. The house was silent. 'As a grave,' Kid thought fleetingly, a shiver running across the back of his neck. "Heyes?" he called. "Catherine?" The house didn't answer. "Where the hell are they?" he said.

"Let's look upstairs," the sheriff suggested.

The two men crept up the stairs, not sure what to expect at the top. Kid led the way down the corridor to Catherine's room. Her door was open and the room was empty. The bed was made, but rumpled, as if someone had lain down atop the covers that morning. Kid's eyes rested for a moment on the old doll lying there, as if tossed aside uncaringly. He felt a pang of regret for childhoods missed, his own and Catherine's. "She's not here," he said to the sheriff, stating the obvious.

He pulled the door shut and turned his attention to Heyes' room. The door was shut. Something about the closed door seemed foreboding, an omen not to be taken lightly but with no clear meaning.

Kid debated whether to announce their arrival or to use the element of surprise. He chose surprise. Gesturing for the sheriff to stand clear, he raised his good leg, resting his full weight on his injured one, and kicked hard. He winced with pain but the door complied, flying open. He rushed in, gun held out in front of him, finger on the trigger.

The room was empty. But it was clear that, up until very recently, it had held more than one person, most likely against their will. His eyes swept the room with growing concern, bordering on a father's horror. The bed was rumpled, not unlike Catherine's, but the room held more clues to what had transpired there and none of them were a comfort to the man who was friend and father to those he suspected had been here last.

He reached down and picked up several lengths of rope. "Four. Four pieces of rope," he mused. "Probably held their hands and feet. But where are they now?" He walked around the bed, noticing the basin of water next to Heyes' bed. His blood ran cold seeing the deep pink color of the water.

"Someone's hurt," the sheriff said, taking in the bloody basin and the roll of bandages on the nightstand.

"Yeah, but who? Heyes or Catherine?" Kid wondered, not liking either answer. "And where are they now?"

"I don't know. But I suspect that if we find Wilde, we'll find them too." The men locked eyes; both of them believed this was true, but neither could help wondering what condition they would find them in.

Kid's face felt like it had turned to granite. "Let's go," he said with quiet determination.

The sheriff nodded, hoping that when they did find Wilde, he'd be able to maintain control over the situation. If the horse thief had hurt one of Kid Curry's loved ones, as it appeared he had, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop the ex-outlaw from killing him. And if that happened, there would be nothing he could do to protect Curry from the consequences.