Chapter 12: One Man's Madness
It was a slow process but finally Rose was sitting upright on the bed. John was nowhere in sight.
Sweat broke out on her brow as she struggled to stand, the days of drugs and inactivity having weakened her considerably, and with the poor nutrition and little water she'd been given it was really no wonder that her legs trembled.
The walls seemed to sway inwards as she staggered, arms outstretched, to the trap door in the ceiling. Expecting to hear John's heavy footsteps at any moment, she dragged the rickety chair under the door and precariously climbed upon it. She still fell short. Half-sobbing at the effort and time it cost her, she went to get the small table, dragging it under the door, and placing the chair atop it. It took several tries, but she made it atop the chair finally and her arms trembled with the exertion of pushing the door open. It was a battle of strength she didn't have in reserve to pull herself up through the opening. She lay on the floor weakly when she made it through, panting. Her mind ferociously urged her to get moving but her body was in revolt.
She sighed and pushed her upper body up, not able to contain a gasp of surprise when she saw where she was. It was an old abandoned ranch house that she'd explored with Jamie when she was younger. It was only a few miles from the Bar M.
The knowledge buoyed her, and she climbed to her feet, and hurried out the door, shocked and suspicious when John didn't come to stop her. She guessed the fact that she felt somewhat more alert might mean he had run out of opium and had to travel to get more. She did not know how long he had been gone or how far away he might be. Daring to hope she could get home, she staggered down the porch stairs and in the direction of home.
It seemed she was in one of her dreams where she ran for miles without going anywhere, but she actually was stumbling along over rocks and clumps of grass at a steady pace. The abandoned farmhouse John had held her in for so long still loomed ominously over her shoulder.
"Can I help you, Miss?"
The gruff voice startled her, and she would have screamed but found her voice hoarse and thin. She relaxed when she recognized the man sitting on the horse in front of her. He was a traveling Catholic priest from Blue Creek who made a trip once a month to Sweetwater.
"What has happened, child?"
Rose could imagine she must look a sight, even in her cloudy haze. She still had on the white nightgown John had put her in soon after taking her from the ranch, but it was stained with blood, dirt, grime, and sweat. Her hair was dirty and oily, and her skin was covered in streaks of filth.
"Please, help me...I need Jamie...the marshal...I have to…" Rose whispered, tears falling down her cheeks, stammering as she tried to tell him what she needed quickly in her foggy state of mind, but was soon interrupted.
"Ah, you've found her, praise the Lord!"
Rose cringed and shrank from the voice. She didn't turn around, but felt John's hand circle her elbow with a grip that was sure to bruise her.
"I apologize, Father, my wife is rather ill," John was telling the priest, "She's lost a child recently, you see, and it's affected her mind a little."
"That so?" The priest wondered, looking at Rose as if to judge if he was telling the truth.
Rose would have cried out that he was lying, but realized that John would kill him, and then he'd be no help. She remained silent, but did her best not to look mad, letting her eyes bore into his. She imagined, drugged as she had been for so long, that she could not possibly look sane.
The priest looked at John, "You should keep a better eye on her, son. She'll hurt herself out here. Someone might take advantage of her."
"Yes Father...I will keep a much better eye on her...she won't get away again," John said quietly but his fingers bit hard enough into her arm to bring new tears to her eyes, even in her drug-numbed state.
"I'll pray for you both," the priest said to John and briefly met Rose's gaze. "God's plan is hard to know sometimes." There was pity in his eyes.
Rose felt hopelessness weight her chest as he seemed to accept John's explanation. A sob escaped her despite herself as he turned his horse to ride away. Everything in her wanted to scream at him to save her from John, knowing that there would be some severe form of punishment for her escape attempt. She curbed the hysteria she felt knowing if she was to have any chance of survival she had to let the priest ride away and pray to God that he mentioned the encounter to anyone who might realize it was her.
She held her breath as John stood beside her silently, watching until the priest was out of sight. At one point he pulled his gun from the holster, and Rose knew he considered killing the priest, but then for whatever reason decided against it.
Even with that small victory, she wanted to give into utter despair but as clear as day, she heard her father's voice urging her to fight just a little longer.
"I can't stand much more, Daddy," she whispered brokenly as John dragged her to his horse and threw her over the saddle.
Teaspoon was sitting solemnly at his desk, watching Jamie and Kid pour over maps of the territory. They'd been looking for Rose for almost two weeks, and hadn't found the slightest hint to where she might be. Cody had arrived, and he and Buck were out looking for Rose, for some long gone track they might have overlooked.
Teaspoon was too knowledgeable about the minds of criminals to have much hope of finding her alive. He couldn't bring himself to tell the men he loved as son and grandson that. Jamie had just ridden in from Willow Springs, and the boy looked like hell. He was pale and drawn, and his cheekbones were beginning to hollow out because he wouldn't eat properly.
Teaspoon cursed inwardly. A man he'd given authority to, put his trust in, had taken Jimmy's child from them...a young woman he loved as much as he had loved her father. He was not sure he could recover from losing her nor his role in it.
A visitor broke his train of thoughts.
"Father McKee," he said by way of greeting the Catholic priest.
"Marshal, I have something I feel I should report to you. It may be nothing, but I will feel better if I tell you."
"Certainly," Teaspoon nodded, and waved to a chair in front of his desk, "What is it?"
"Well, I was riding into town and saw a girl wandering in the field near that old farmhouse north of town. I thought it was abandoned, but I guess I was wrong. She was unkempt and looked half-wild. I asked the girl if she needed help, and she told me she needed the marshal, but before I could do anything else, a young man appeared. Said the girl had gone daft with a miscarriage, and I daresay the girl did not look well...nor seem to be in her right mind...but it left me feeling queer. Felt like there was something strange about the fellow…"
Jamie stood up so quickly his chair clattered to the ground, "What did she look like?"
"Pretty girl underneath the grime. Tall and thin. Probably about eighteen or so. Red hair."
Jamie, Kid, and Teaspoon exchanged shocked glances. They'd turned over every rock in the surrounding territory but it had not occurred to them that she might have been kept close.
"Thought you checked out the old homestead," Teaspoon murmured.
"We did the day after he took her. No sign of her then." Jamie said. "He'll move her now, or kill her. We have to go."
"Let's ride," Kid agreed and watched as Teaspoon grabbed his gun.
Lady was tied up outside since Jamie had just returned from Willow Springs, and he leapt on her.
"You wait for us, Jamie!" Kid warned him, but Jamie was already wheeling Lady and urging her into a gallop.
"There's no time!" Jamie called back over his shoulder.
"Idiot!" Kid muttered and glanced at Teaspoon, "Let's get the horses before he gets himself killed."
"Reminds me of you running after Lou," Teaspoon pointed out as they broke into a run toward the Livery stable.
Kid sighed. It was so easy to forget that Jamie was a man, and more than that a man who looked at Rose the way he looked at Lou.
"No!" Rose thundered as John pulled out the familiar syringe, "No more!"
"Shh, you've gone and gotten upset. We're going to be moving today Rose. I'm taking you home."
"You're taking me back?" Rose asked suspiciously.
"No. Home, Rose. To England. We will have a nice long boat ride for you to learn my rules. You ever run away from me again, I will cut off your toes Rose. In fact, as soon as we get away from here I think I will take one as a lesson."
"You're mad, John, you really are! I want you to think for one minute, please!" Rose struggled to stay alert and focused, having the feeling her future depended on it. She watched his hand as he finished drawing the drug into the syringe, and began talking quickly, "John, listen to me. You can't keep me drugged the rest of my life. I'm never going to love you, and sooner or later I'll have the chance to escape again, and I'll take it. And one day I'll get away from you. Let me go now and go back to England and I won't tell anyone what you've done!"
John ignored her, murmuring endearments as he pulled her arm out. Rose glanced down at the ugly needle marks and bruising on the inside of her elbow and taking a deep breath, tensed her muscle. She hesitated a moment too long, and John jabbed the needle into her arm before she struck out with both arms and legs, knocking him off the bed and rolling out of the other side, not paying attention to the prick of the needle still in her arm. She groped wildly along the wall, heading for the door.
A blunt blow made contact with her lower back and she went sprawling across the floor with a grunt. John leapt on her from behind, his hands tearing at her hair and skin in a fury she hadn't seen from him before.
"That's it Rose, I've waited and waited, and been so good to you! And this is how you repay me? I'll wait no more! Ask me to make love to you, now."
"You're a crazy bastard!" Rose spat at him, "No!"
"I told you once I'd never do anything you didn't ask me to, but I have ways of making you ask Rose, and you're not going to like them any more than the other girls."
He was still behind her, so she heard rather than saw him pull a knife from his boot. With deft hands that she was no match for with her rapid loss of orientation, he turned her to her back and kneeled over her, quickly injecting the rest of the sedative into her vein and then tossing it away.
"Ask me Rose," John demanded in a voice that was calm.
"Is this what you did to the other girls? And when they refused you, you just killed them?"
John shook his head, "No, not at all. I cut off their ears when they wouldn't ask. Then, I got bored with them and killed them. I had to rush with Elizabeth before I was ready...because you showed up and messed up my routine. Thought you had run on home...left me wanting you like a tease Rose, like the whore you have proven yourself to be. So I went to that pretty blonde's house. But you didn't want me to have her and there you were, interfering with my plans. I knew you cared for me then."
"I thought of taking you that night...but I just wasn't quite ready yet...I wanted to savor our time together...draw it out to make this moment when you suggested that we should be nothing more than friends. As if our attraction could ever be ignored...I knew I would need time to teach you. Imagine my thoughts a few weeks later, when I saw you ride into town with James McCloud. I distracted myself with the Mayor's wife that night...now she was a fighter, that one. Got a hold of my knife."
He methodically wiped the knife blade on his pants leg as if it still had Lucy Baines' blood on it and looked at her, "One more chance to ask me Rose."
Rose watched with wide eyes as he brought the knife past her face, and held it behind her good ear lobe. His finger caressed the front of the lobe gently.
"Should I make them match, or will you ask me Rose?"
For a cowardly moment, she considered giving in, thinking that it would be better to be raped than mutilated, and remembering clearly the hot pain of losing her other ear years ago. However, looking into John's eyes, she realized she'd never recover if he touched her that way with what he considered to be her permission in his sickened brain.
She wasn't sure it mattered anyway. He was ready to kill her now though he had not been before. She wondered just how long it would take the priest to ride to town...how much longer still until he asked about a young couple who had lost a child recently..
"Go to Hell," she growled, then shrieked in pain as the knife sliced hotly into the tender skin of her earlobe.
"Rose!" Jamie screamed moments after her own cry had pierced the air. He struggled with the locked front door, and figured out that John had barred it from the inside.
He moved to the window of the old farmhouse and drew back his gun plunging it through a window as Rose yelled again. Not feeling the cuts that spilled blood between his fingers, he knocked the rest of the glass out, and crawled into the house.
"John!" He thundered in a rage, "You'd better get the hell away from her! Where are you Rose?"
"Jamie!" The call was filled with fear and relief, but followed by another cry of pain that raised the hair on Jamie's arms. He dashed through the house calling her, but she was suddenly silent.
Rose kicked and bit at the hand covering her mouth, trying desperately to help Jamie find her. John looked completely out of his mind, all traces of the Englishman gone to be replaced by a monster tearing at his and her clothes, intent on the task he'd set his mind to.
Finally, his hand slipped and Rose took the opportunity to bite his finger with all her might. John's own cry of pain led Jamie to them.
He shouldn't have been surprised that John was waiting for him when he dropped onto the floor of the cellar, but felt his breath leave him when his eyes fell on them. John was kneeling over the top of Rose, both of them half undressed, and looking steadily back at him. A knife was pressed close to Rose's throat, and blood covered one side of it. He realized the blood came from Rose's ear and felt sickened.
"Jamie," she whispered his name, a combination of a warning and a plea, then was quiet. Tears rolled down her face and Jamie wanted John's head separated from his body, was fairly certain he could remove it with his bare hands. Every cell in his body wanted to rush to her side...but the knife would be quicker than he was.
"Get off her John, right now," Jamie ordered softly, a quiet warning, but a deadly one.
"You drop the gun or I'll slit her throat like I did the others," John gave a warning of his own. He suddenly smiled at Jamie, "Surprised, weren't you, to find it was me? Thought I was a lazy drunk, did you?"
"You outsmarted us all. John, let her go, you can walk away," Jamie lied, not daring to provoke the crazed man in front of him.
"Don't patronize me! I told you to drop the gun, McCloud," John responded.
They were both perfectly still. Rose, knowing her life hung in the balance, was silent.
"John…" Jamie tried to make his shaking voice reasonable.
"Jamie," John said in the same tone, mocking, and applied more pressure to the blade. Rose breathed in sharply and bit her lip as the point pricked her skin.
Her heart felt as if it rested right at the base of her throat, just beneath the knife.
Jamie, seeing the trail of blood that oozed from the tip of the blade as well as the quickening pulse in the column of Rose's long throat quickly held up his hands, "Okay! Okay, John, I'll drop it! Just don't hurt her!"
"Don't do it Jamie, he'll kill me anyway, and you too!"
"Shut up!" John snapped at her, taking his other hand and cracking it across her mouth hard.
Jamie took a long step forward, nearly blinded by berserk rage, but John growled and repositioned the knife, "No you don't! Kick it over here."
Jamie stopped short and obeyed despite the looks from Rose that begged him not to.
"Good," John said when he held the gun, "Now, I'll deal with you in a few minutes. Rose, where were we? Oh yes, you were going to ask me to make love to you, right?"
"No!" Jamie and Rose cried out at the same time, but when John pointed the revolver at Jamie's head, they both fell silent.
"Well, you wouldn't ask to save your own neck, but what about his? Ask me Rose, or I'll put a bullet in him!"
"I'd rather die than him touch you!" Jamie protested, feeling a cold sweat cover him from head to toe. He'd never felt more helpless. Here she was three yards away and he couldn't do a damn thing to help her.
It wasn't so simple for Rose. Or rather, it was that simple, but for the other option. Her honor for Jamie's life. A small price, she thought.
Rose swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, and avoiding Jamie's eyes at all costs she nodded, "Okay John, you win."
"Rose!" Jamie's cry was desperate, but when John raised the knife on Rose, he again quieted.
"No Rose, I want you to ask," John insisted.
Jamie couldn't stop himself as he begged her, "Please, Rose, don't do this!"
Rose hesitated, fury, pride, and fear mixing in her blood, which seemed to slow to a crawl. She took a deep breath, praying for courage.
John cocked the hammer of the gun trained on Jamie as an incentive for her to hurry with her question.
"John-okay. You can do whatever you want. I won't fight."
"No, Rose. You don't understand. I want you to ask me to make love to you."
Jamie shook his head, feeling more and more sick, and terror was edging out fury as his mind worked at a way to save her. He knew John was a lunatic, but he'd never dreamed such madness existed. John would really believe when Rose asked him, although forced to do so, that she loved and wanted him.
"John," Rose's voice was not her own, and sweat beaded on her forehead, "Would you m-make l-love to m-me?"
Jamie felt he would vomit. John, in a flurry of movement, began pushing the night dress further up Rose's legs. Seeing the pistol still pointed at Jamie's head, Rose offered no resistance. John laid the knife by her and began fumbling with his belt.
As soon as the knife was clear of Rose's throat, Jamie let out a snarl that was not entirely human and bolted.
Everything else happened very fast, and yet Rose could recall every detail with agonizing clarity for the rest of her life.
John lurched off her, his elbow grinding into her ribs as he took aim. She screamed and knocked his arm as he squeezed the trigger. The gun roared right above her face, and she saw the flash from the barrel, smelled the pungent odor of gunpowder.
The carved ivory handle of the knife was smooth between her fingers. The strength with which her arm moved was many times greater than it should have been, but desperation and the need to survive flooded into her blood and battled the morphine and opium. The blade glided smoothly, almost gracefully, between John's shoulder blades. His eyes went wide with shock.
John collapsed on top of her, making a distant keening sound that brought to mind slaughterhouses, but then Jamie was lifting him off her and throwing him halfway across the room that had been her prison. Her ears were ringing so much from the close range gunshot that she was hearing things as if from deep under the surface of water; Jamie warning John to stay down and the sound of a second gunshot.
Then Jamie was dragging her into a rough embrace that might have broken her bones if she hadn't been clinging to him just as frantically.
Jamie wasn't sure which of them was trembling worse. Their mutual shaking rocked them closer. "It's over now," he said simply in a voice that he used on frightened or hurt animals.
He still sounded a thousand leagues away. Her head burrowed further into his chest, and he pulled her closer. She smelled of blood, sweat, grime, opium, and now John, the result of days in the heat of the summer held captive in an underground hole.
The fear, the opium, and the illness mingled with the other smells, and yet, even under that he could smell the faintest twinge of the lilac water she always used. The scent was as much a part of her as her red hair, and he allowed relief to course through his veins.
"Is he dead?" Rose asked suddenly, trying to look to see for herself.
Jamie pushed her head back into his chest, not wanting her to see the body, "He's dead, honey. He won't hurt you again."
Her trembling didn't ease though, "I didn't want to stop till he was dead," she said through teeth that chattered.
"I know you didn't. I finished him for you," he assured her.
"Did he hurt you?" She asked quietly, "Are you hit?"
Jamie shook his head, "He clipped my arm and it knocked me down, I'm fine. You saved my life you know. Why can't you ever let me do the rescuing, huh?" His voice still trembled wildly.
"Jamie! Jamie, where are you! Rose?" Kid's voice was frantic, and not without good reason, Jamie thought suddenly. He had ridden off without them like a bat out of hell and Kid would have heard the two shots with no idea of their outcome but would fear the worst.
"Down here! The cellar in the kitchen," He called to them, voice still shaking, "We're both alright."
Kid and Teaspoon were quick in making it to the trap door and looked down in the dim room from above.
"You're alright?" Kid asked doubtfully, seeing the blood on Jamie's sleeve and Rose's neck.
"Yes," Jamie and Rose gave the shaky answer, and Jamie added, "John's dead."
"Not soon enough," Kid said, and looked to Rose, tears touching his eyes. "Sweetheart, you don't know how happy I am to see you."
Jamie climbed to his feet, taking Rose with him, blocking her view of John's body at all costs with his own, not missing the shudder as she looked around the small room, "Let's get you out of here, Rosie."
"Yes, let's get me out of here," Rose agreed, trying to smile but not quite succeeding.
She stretched her arms out to Kid as Jamie lifted her, and Kid grasped her tightly after he pulled her up, sitting down on the floor suddenly and cradling her in his arms.
"Thank God, thank you God," he murmured as he brushed her hair back and looked in her eyes, kissing her forehead gently. "My Rose," he said and his voice and calm broke and sobs wracked his shoulders as he pulled her to him as if she were still a child. As if she were his child.
Something about his fatherly embrace and loving eyes, mixed with the sudden loss of adrenaline and the relief of what she'd escaped made Rose feel four years old. The sedative was winning the fight in her blood. Giving in to the realization that she was safe and didn't have to keep her wits about her any longer, she finally sniffled once, then lay her head against Kid's chest and fell asleep.
"Riders up ahead," Jamie called, and glanced at Kid and Rose. She was sleeping heavily in a drug-induced state against Kid's chest.
"Looks like Lou," Teaspoon noted. "And Cody and Buck with her too."
"Is she alright?" Lou asked breathlessly as she urged Target to Belle's side and bent over Rose's sleeping form. Lou then looked at Jamie, and cried out when she saw the blood on his sleeve and hand, "Jamie? What happened, is it bad?"
"Just scratches, Mama," Jamie assured her, then smiled gently, "I told you we'd get her."
Lou looked into his eyes and realized with a jolt he really would have given his life to keep his vow to bring her home. The relief in his eyes couldn't be any less than hers had been when they had finally brought Kid out of Point Lookout.
It was the first time she took the time to notice the depths of his love for Rose, and it thrilled and frightened her at the same time as she looked at Rose. There was no telling yet the horror of what she'd suffered, and no telling whether she'd ever move on completely.
"Is John dead?" She asked suddenly.
"Yes," Kid answered looking at her knowingly. She had been unable to find peace while Wicks walked in the world.
They nodded together. At least it was a start.
Rose drifted around her room restlessly, feeling as if her skin was too confining. She wanted to go outside and ride, but the doctor had told Lou to keep her in bed for a few days, until the last of the drugs were gone from her system, and even if he hadn't, none of her family were anxious to let her out of their sight.
She was irritable, had a hellish headache, and wanted nothing more than to be alone, but she'd had a constant stream of caregivers and well wishers. Her stomach and digestive system were in absolute revolt at the sudden lack of opium and she had seldom been more miserable.
She had hated the way the drugs made her feel and she hated even more that her body was desperate for more of them. It was just one of the many many things John had forced on her that she hadn't wanted and she was furious at a corpse.
Everyone at the ranch was on her last nerve; she was annoyed by Patrick's accent, by Kid's concern, by Teaspoon's questions, by Rachel constantly trying to make her eat something, by Lou's insistence on drawing open the curtains and window she wanted closed against the bright summer sky, finding the cheerful light agonizing and starkly in opposition to her mood. Even Cody's most entertaining tales could not hold her attention or lift her spirits.
Jamie alone seemed to want to give her space.
And damn it, that annoyed her too.
Only now, three days after her return was she finally and blissfully alone for a moment. She quickly realized the folly of that.
She couldn't, wouldn't, think about John. Even the determined thought not to was enough to send a chill down her spine. How she loathed him, loathed what he'd done to her, and yet, she pitied him as well. The doctor had talked at length with her about opium addiction...not for herself but so that she might understand more about John Morgan when she was ready to face his memory.
Her hands trembled unsteadily, something the doctor warned her would happen for a few days as her body readjusted to the lack of drugs that had been such a part of her bloodstream for nearly two and a half weeks. She didn't think it was so much that as the memory of how her hands had closed around the knife and plunged into John's back, of how his hands had ripped at her skin.
It was all she could do to face Jamie. He'd been there, he'd seen her give in, swallow her pride and ask John to make love to her. Of course, she knew he didn't fault her for it, knew he realized she'd done it to save his life, but she felt cowardly and dirty for saying the words, and didn't like knowing he shared the memory.
It seemed unfitting to be back in her own room, with nothing there changed; well, almost nothing, she reflected. She was changed. She was angry at the futility of all the death that she'd witnessed in the past months, three women, an innocent man, and a lunatic, all dead. Countless more had been worried within an inch of their lives for her safety. She feared herself forever changed by her experience. And for what? One man's madness?
She opened a drawer and rifled through it idly, wanting to take her mind off John. She pulled back and muttered an oath when something sharp cut her finger. She sucked at the wound, and carefully removed the stockings in the drawer.
Her eyes widened as she pulled out the object that she encountered. Her father's badge. She still remembered her dream about him in great detail, one of the few things that she could think clearly about from her captivity. She had been heartbroken when Teaspoon had not been able to find it in the cellar, but figured John had done away with it when he had changed her clothes. Was it possible, she wondered, that she'd put it in the drawer that night before John found her?
She shook her head. She hadn't gone to her room that night, she'd stayed downstairs. And she knew she had the star in her pocket during Carlos' funeral. It was possible that she'd dropped it around the station yard and someone had picked it up and brought it to her room, but there was no explanation why they would have put it in the drawer she used as a hiding place for things dear to her.
Chills swept up and down her arm. Jimmy's voice came to her, promising to keep the treasured badge safe for her. She shook her head in confusion, a battle waged between what her mind knew to be impossible and what her heart longed to be true. Had he really been there, watching over her?
She shivered, felt warmth against her cheek.
The gentle silence that seemed to embrace her did much to restore her peace of mind and heart.
It became an unspoken rule around the station that no one spoke of John to Rose. She healed quickly, and was soon back to her old chores. She even slowly smiled and laughed and regained some of the old spirit that they missed for her first few weeks back. The heat of summer gave way to the refreshing air of autumn, and as Rose turned eighteen, she finally felt like herself again.
Jamie watched her with concern and hope. He was well aware of Rose's shame around him, and although he dared not speak of it to her, he alleviated it by spending time with her, good-naturedly refusing to let her draw away from him. He kept things light, neutral, was endlessly careful. But he was there always.
Today, she was riding fence with him and smiling brightly.
Jamie was so happy to see her grinning that he didn't even realize his own mistake until he saw the smile fade slowly from her face.
"Oh," she murmured softly, eyes fixed ahead.
Jamie knew his stupidity at once. He'd made a mental note to avoid the fence line bordering the abandoned farmhouse, but had completely forgotten it as he absentmindedly made the rounds of checking the fence he always did.
"Rose, I'm sorry," Jamie began, "I meant to stay away from here."
Rose shook her head, not looking away from the rickety house, appearing so harmless against the bright blue sky, "I can't avoid it forever, you know." In admitting it to him, she had to believe it herself. She suddenly turned to look in his eyes, "Jamie, I want to go back."
"Rose, I don't know if that's a good…" her look stopped him short and he simply nodded, "Well, let's go, then."
They hobbled the horses near the fence, loosening their saddles and leaving them to graze and climbed through the barbed wire. Rose stuck close to Jamie's shoulder as they walked across the grass.
Jamie cast frequent glances at Rose, but said nothing and was careful not to touch her though he wanted to seize her hand, give her comfort. She was the picture of determination, her jaw squared and her teeth gritted. They crawled through the broken window.
Jamie hung back and let Rose take her own pace through the parlor, into the kitchen. She sighed and stared at the trap door.
"Rose, you know you don't have to do this," Jamie reminded her.
"I think I do, Jamie," was her quiet response.
Sighing, Jamie helped her pull up the door, and pushed her aside, jumping down first so that he could reach up and lift her down.
In the room again, he felt the bad memories assault him violently. He saw John on top of her, the knife to her throat, intent on raping her. He'd only spent a few minutes in the underground hole and his skin crawled now. He couldn't imagine Rose's feelings after spending so many hopeless days there while no one could find her. He wondered what had happened to her here in those days, but she had not spoken of it to anyone.
Not only could he not imagine what she was feeling, but he couldn't tell from her face either. It was set in stony lines, completely unreadable. He stayed where he was as she slowly journeyed around the room, hands clenched at her sides.
She bent down suddenly and when she straightened Jamie saw the syringe in her hands. His blood heated.
She studied it with the same expressionless eyes.
"I knew you'd find me," she said quietly.
Jamie nodded, "I'd never have stopped looking...I am so sorry it took us as long as it did."
"I know," Rose said softly. Her eyes went to the wall, and she traced the stain of the laudanum she'd thrown at John with her fingertips.
She continued on her slow journey, lightly touching things, and Jamie was aware of the rare gift she was making to him of her confidence. She wouldn't talk at length about her experiences he knew, but she was opening up to him nonetheless. "I think he meant to kill me after he, um, had his way. He tried to...a few times over the weeks...at least I think he did...the memories are hard to separate from the dreams…"
Jamie had determined never to ask her unless she volunteered but the words escaped him anyway, "Rose...did he ever...did he rape you?"
"I don't think so...I am not sure if it was the opium or something else...he touched me...tried to do more, but he never could...I think…the doctor said it was unlikely given the amount of opium he took on a regular basis...that he could...well, perform…So, no...I don't think he ever was able to really follow through…"
And what a hell it would be for her not to be sure one way or the other, Jamie thought.
"I, I am so sorry this happened to you." Jamie hesitated,1 "Rose, you may not want to hear, but Teaspoon had some news from back East about John."
She considered it, then wondered, "What?"
"He's done this before. He escaped England, but was wanted for murder, and in New York, he disappeared after several girls came up dead. He has been doing this for years. You are the only girl to survive him..." Jamie's voice trembled at that though he had tried to deliver the news matter-of-factly.
"Did he cut off their ears too?"
"No. But there was always something...a finger, a tooth…"
"So that's why he chose me. My ear."
Jamie shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. But I just wanted you to know, it wasn't anything you'd done. It wasn't your fault. It was him, Rose. He'd done it before and would have done it again. He was very sick. You were very smart and very strong to have stayed alive."
"Jamie...I need to know...would John have died by my hand...if you hadn't had to shoot him?"
Jamie watched her carefully, wondering what her motivation was in asking. Did she hope she had dealt him the fatal blow or was she worried she had? Knowing Rose, he thought that it would likely add to her burden to know she would have been responsible for John's death.
Finally he said, "You wounded him, Rosie, but his death? That is on my head, not yours, you understand? And going in that room...when I saw him holding a knife to your throat, I knew then and there one of us was not coming out alive. It was always going to be him or me."
She knew him well enough to suspect he was lying about the damage she had inflicted on John, but she loved him for trying to put her mind at ease.
However, his words were getting too close to breaching the wall she'd built around those memories, and she cleared her throat and changed the subject, "I saw my father. Sure as sunrise. Talked to him."
Jamie's eyes opened wide in shock, "What?"
"He came to talk to me. He told me things about my mother…about himself. He knew about me, even though I didn't tell him. He said he'd help me get out of here somehow."
Jamie felt his hair stand on end. Rose smiled slightly at his expression of disbelief. "You think I've lost my mind."
"No!" Jamie said, coughing slightly, "It's just that…well, Rose, I don't know how to tell you this, but in Willow Springs I had a dream about him too. And he told me to come back home, that I'd find you if I did. He called you his daughter which I thought was strange in the dream, because I thought he didn't know. And so, I rode like Hell for home Rose, and within the hour of me getting there, Father Mckee came in."
He could see the goosebumps on Rose's arm as they stared at one another.
"Do you think it was him…somehow?" Rose whispered, hugging herself.
"Yes," Jamie said with certainty, although he'd never been superstitious or one to believe in ghosts, "I do."
Rose sighed, took a last look around the room, shivered, and then put John Morgan behind her.