Chapter Twelve: Accusations, Pt.1
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Milly stood on the walkway, scanning the swarming crowd for a sign of a familiar blond head, heedless of the mild cursing emanating from Meryl struggling to clamber out the window behind her. She spotted a flash of red just as it whipped around a corner, where the main crush of people was directed.
"Good thing he's wearing his coat," she remarked.
"Yeah, great. All the better to track his sorry a-AHHH!!!" Meryl shrieked as she tumbled over the ledge onto the walkway.
Milly was glad that she had brought the coat back. She hadn't realized that Vash had left it behind on purpose. That evening after Vash's return, while he and Meryl were preoccupied with Knives, she had quietly slipped out into desert. Though she had no clear idea in which direction to head, somehow she had still known where to go – perhaps, Milly reasoned later, it was simply that she had been following the call in her heart. She traveled across several dunes until, cresting a ridge, she spotted the object of her search: a heavy cross bathed in red moonlight, standing crookedly in the sand. Running the last few yarzs, she drew close to Cross Punisher, throwing her arms around it and pulling it close. Grateful tears poured down her face.
"So did you manage to save him, too, Nick?"
A man lays down his life for his friends, honey, she imagined the desert whisper back to her.
Milly had her moment to gather herself, and slung Cross Punisher easily over her shoulder. It was as she turned to head back when she spotted the pile of dark material that lay in a heap almost at her feet. Dragging it out of the sand, she recognized the fabric immediately: Vash's red coat. Wondering once again why Vash had left it behind, she nevertheless bundled the coat up and started the trek into town.
He finally put the coat on again when they'd had to travel to the ship. "Jessica might be upset if I lost it so soon," he remarked, though Milly suspected he wouldn't have worn it if he'd had something else. Even now, she had the feeling he donned it merely as an afterthought. It was only one of many clues that Milly understood to mean that there was something significantly different about Vash, even if Meryl didn't seem to realize it yet.
But maybe she was finally catching on.
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Vash flew down the hard-packed dirt street, weaving expertly through the crowd and moving amazingly well for a man with a bad case of the backdoor trots. He soon arrived outside the local jail house – easy to find given the commotion on its doorsteps – and was confronted with a painfully familiar tableau: two impassive deputies holding their grim prisoner between them, while around them swirled an angry mob, shouting threats and portending violence. Vash sighed, then quickly focused his attention on Dolores. He was relieved to see that she looked disheveled yet unhurt, but wondered if that would change shortly.
Suddenly an empty bottle hurtled through the air, smashing against the jail house wall a few feet above Dolores's head. The midwife did not flinch. Instead she stood ramrod straight, chin jutting out, and stared challengingly back at the mob as if daring someone to come at her. It gave Vash pause, wondering at her bold if reckless defiance, when he noticed her expression suddenly shift from cool disdain to cold fury. A man had just stepped out of the crowd and came to stand facing Dolores, causing the angry din to quickly die down.
"I knew it would come to this one day," said Thomas Wilde, his steely eyes reflecting an equal measure of acrimony back at the midwife. A full head shorter than the doctor, Dolores reared up to confront him, much to the discomfit of her captors.
"Oh, you did? So was this your plan from the start, then, when you decided to sew the town up in your pocket?" she demanded angrily.
"I didn't 'sew up' this town so much as enlighten everyone as to what kind of a medical quack you really are," remarked Thomas coldly, whose composed voice simmered with underlying hostility. "People came to my practice of their own volition – as anyone with sense naturally would," he added.
"You arrogant little…," Dolores hissed, straining against her bonds. Vash had the feeling that if the two deputies hadn't been holding her back, she would have taken a swing at Thomas. "You think a fancy December education makes you so much smarter than the rest of us. And yet you remain so ignorant of subtleties of your profession. You have no appreciation for –."
"Ignorant?" interrupted Thomas with a dry laugh. "That's rich, coming from you. You're the one with no true appreciation for the complexities of the profession. If you hadn't been so stubbornly narrow minded about everything and let me apply some real medical knowledge…."
"Don't condescend to me! My methods may be old but that doesn't make them worthless – and I know my limitations! But you assume that everything can be cured just by throwing any newfangled notion at it, no matter how reckless, how untried…."
"My techniques are not unfounded. They are all based on solid, sound research! And they can make all the difference between life and death – or wasn't your last victim proof enough for you?"
For the briefest of moments, Vash thought he saw something haunted and broken flash from the depths of the midwife's pale eyes. Then a well of hatred quickly filled the icy blue glare, disconcertingly reminding him of Knives.
"You're not God; you don't know that," Dolores replied shakily.
"What I do know is that I don't drag my feet in the ground for fear that something might not work – I may take risks, but only when I have to, only when the alternative is to sit back and do nothing!"
"Life," said Dolores, trembling with emotion, "Isn't something to gamble with, Wilde – especially when the life in question isn't your own."
"And since when did you have the last word about who can and can't 'risk' their life – especially when that said life doesn't concern you anymore?"
"Doesn't concern me? How in blazes do you figure that it doesn't concern me?!"
"BECAUSE SHE WAS MY WIFE, DAMN YOU!" roared Dr. Wilde, losing all remaining composure. "YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO INTERFERE WITH US, WITH THE CHOICES WE HAD TO MAKE! AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT THAT SHE DIED!"
"YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD, SHE WAS MY DAUGHTER!" screamed Dolores. "I HAD EVERY RIGHT TO SEE THAT YOUR ACTIONS WERE IN HER BEST INTERESTS – AND HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT I WOULD EVER HAVE WILLINGLY LET MY BABY DIE?"
"YOUR baby, is that what she was?" The doctor's voice was thick with bitterness."So you say you wouldn't let 'your' baby die – but what about mine?!?"
For a moment, Vash noted, the street became almost preternaturally quiet, an outdoor equivalent of having the air sucked out of a room. Dolores staggered as if she'd received a physical blow. When she spoke again, her voice sounded unnaturally high.
"What exactly are you saying, Wilde?"
"How stupid do you think I am? Did you really think I wouldn't make the connection? It was you who slipped her that last batch of your 'specialty' tea – the one that caused her to bleed to death."
"Oh, my," came Milly's soft gasp, catching Vash unaware – he hadn't noticed at what point during the argument the two insurance agents slipped up beside him. He felt slight pressure on his right arm as Meryl's hand gripped him unsteadily, causing him to glance down at her. He was surprised to see that she was trembling as she stared at Dolores. There was a collective murmur from the crowd.
"You blind fool…," The midwife, so defiant only a moment before, seemed to sag in on herself. "It wasn't meant to… that was only to relieve her pain, to purge her system. It was never supposed to –!"
"If it wasn't, Hawthorne – and I don't believe you for a minute – that still means you're nothing but an inept, backward, menace to society… and a poisoner," spat Thomas.
Dolores surged back to life. She lurched forward so violently that she dragged her guards forward, forcing Thomas to take an involuntary step backwards as she stared him down.
"Poisoner? You twisted, malicious, two-faced LIAR! You're the one who's been poisoning everyone with your hypocritical posturing and false promises! Don't forget that I know what you put into those bottles!"
Thomas paled, though with fear or fury Vash couldn't discern.
"Say what you want – my hands are clean."
Turning his back on her, Thomas pushed his way into the crowd and disappeared. The gap he left was quickly filled with townsfolk, milling and muttering, their agitation increasing by the second. Vash could scent the danger. He was running various intervention scenarios through his mind, trying to pick the best one when he spotted a group of men step forward from throng. They approached Dolores, who though regarding them defiantly appeared resigned. Vash suspected strongly that her guards wouldn't do anything to prevent her from coming to harm. He was about to move forward when another man, wearing only his pants and galluses, suddenly appeared from behind the deputies and planted himself in the path of the would-be lynchers. Wordlessly, he drew a gun and trained it on the leading man, stopping him dead in his tracks.
"Don't get in our way, Stockton," muttered Harold, who nevertheless kept his gaze focused on the pistol aimed squarely between his eyes.
Stockton coolly appraised the mob.
"Last I checked, Martin, I was still Sheriff – and anyone who's got a problem with that can take it up with me directly." Turning from Harold to face the crowd, he raised his voice pointedly. "You all know the law – the prisoner will have her day in court, and anyone with an accusation can face her then. Now seeing as we've got that straight… CLEAR OUT!!!"
There was another outbreak of angry muttering, but the mob seemed checked for the moment as Harold and the others skulked away. Sheriff Stockton meanwhile turned sharply to his deputies.
"And what the hell are you two idiots doing still standing out here with the prisoner? Get her inside now!"
Vash watched as the deputies hastily scrambled to move Dolores inside the jail house. As the crowd began to slowly disperse around him, he made up his mind, and took a step towards the sheriff.
One second later, he was not surprised to find the pistol aimed steadily at his chest.
"You looking to pick a fight, boy?"
Vash flashed his customary lopsided grim as he waved placating hands in the air.
"Actually, I wouldn't dream of taking on a big tough guy like you. I can't stand pain. Can we talk?"
Stockton cocked a leery eyebrow, but slowly lowered the gun. That was good. Vash had been sure that he detected the sheriff's trigger finger twitch faintly just a moment ago.
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