Disclaimer: I own none of the characters presented in this story. Red Dead Redemption and all associated with said property belong to Rockstar Games.
Disclaimer: Strong depictions of violence, murder, and other such heinous and repugnant acts, very harsh language used throughout, and some taboo and offensive material occasionally presented.
Part Thirty-Seven: Mary-Beth
11:42 AM, August 15th, 1899
"Here y'are."
"T-thanks, Micah," Mary-Beth said with a confused smile as she took the two bowls of stew. Color had snuck back into his cheeks, and working against his downward arching mustache, a tiny smile hid. He seems happy, Mary-Beth reflected, realizing for the first time it might be possible for Micah Bell's glee and someone else's misery to be mutually exclusive. A bizarre (and foreign) notion.
She headed to the makeshift infirmary Abigail had helped her conjure up by the cave, adjacent to Dutch's own, empty, tent. The man had left a few hours ago to rally with the native man. Part of her hoped he wouldn't come back. It was an awful fancy, she knew, but she was beginning to think he was an awful man. Yes, he took her in, gave her food, clothing, a community, but after that day in the woods, a day she strived arduously to never think about ever again (to no avail), even those noble intentions seemed lined with something darker, she thought.
She imagined a lion licking its offspring, brushing the dirt and muck from it, before arbitrarily ripping its head off, crunching down on the gushing skull like a hard nut. It made her shudder.
She entered the white tent—complete with a few coats stuffed under the flat bedroll (in their situations, it might as well have been a fat mattress of quail feathers and silk), a small table set with soggy brown rags, rusty pliers, needles, and stitches, all blushing with Kieran's blood, and a rank green puddle she stepped over—and handed the patient his lunch. At least she would've if he was here.
She groaned and stormed out, already knowing where he was. He tried to sneak out this morning to brush the horses; he was so stubborn about it she had to calm him with a kiss. A brief smile flashed up her cheeks at the memory before fading into an irritated scowl. Dumb fool. Don't know—doesn't know that there's a correlation between constant rest and gettin' the living daylights beaten out of you.
She found him, guilt as sin, by the horses at the front of camp. His wounds had only shrunk by a scant margin and he smiled shyly at her, hoping she'd smile back. With everything she had, she didn't.
"Why the hell are you out and about when you're in so much pain?" she demanded, pushing the bowl of warm orange juices in his left arm before seizing his right and yanking him to the spool table at the center of camp and forcing him down in a chair.
"The-the pain ain't too bad," he insisted, "it's really only in my face." He was looking up at her with those big innocent eyes, like a whirlpool, equal parts green and blue, shimmering and shining, and even with all those bruises decorating his face he was handsome—his swollen lips looked like he was puckering them, which she found cute in a strange, gross sort of wa—
No, no, no, she resisted, he isn't allowed to get away with this! "Oh, only your face?" she asked condescendingly, trying her damndest to be cross with him. "Well, in case you hadn't noticed, your face is a damn mess! And ignore whatever Uncle says—women like men who don't look like Quasimodo!"She finished with a grunt. He don't know who that is.
"I-I don't know who that is."
"Just-just…" she grabbed his bruised cheekbones and he winced slightly, "please stop."
He glanced at his drooping feet and gave her a mumble. "Sorry."
"I don't want you sorry!" she said, annoyed she had to say it again. That annoyance died when she saw those pretty eyes darken and those pursing lips quiver and against her better judgment to be stern, she rested her hand on his leg, squeezing it gently and speaking softly. "I want you safe." She smiled sweetly at him and he smiled back and despite all the hell they'd been through, everything seemed right in the world. She cleared her throat roughly before continuing. "But really you should be sorry. Going against me when I bribed you with a kiss?" She tsked, scooting his stew closer as she sat down next to him. "Good way to ensure you never get another."
She meant for it to come out as grumpy teasing, like how she'd seen Karen swat Sean away, but it came out all wrong. Her voice was too high-pitched and excited; her ultimatum had no validity and they both knew it.
So she wasn't surprised when Kieran's swirling eyes filled with bawdiness. "Maybe it weren't big enough."
She sighed dramatically before finding her lips on his. It was the longest they'd shared, granted they hadn't shared many. His beard was patchy and pricked her, though she missed it when she pulled away. "Wasn't." She grinned smugly. "Speaking of which, we should get back to practicing your reading!"
"Oh…" His smirk plummeted.
"Yeah… all this bedrest you'll be getting will give us all the time we'll need!"
"I-I d-don't think—"
She tapped her chin in mock thought. "Yeah, yeah, I don't have too many chores, and I could always ask Tilly to cover for me…" She picked up the silver spoon in Kieran's bowl.
"Wait, wait, I-I really think I've learned enou—"
She cut him off by slipping the silver spoon through his lips, depositing the contents in his mouth."Yeah, we could reread Pride and Prejudice from dusk till dawn. Oh, until, sorry."
Kieran swallowed roughly. "No, no. We-we—"
"What? You don't want to?"
His eyes were wide with desperation. "Yes! I mean no! I mean—"
"Okay," she said casually. "You win. We won't read all day. I'm a generous girl—it's a weakness, I know. How about this: you promise to get some proper rest and not to excerpt yourself in any way, and we'll only practice for an hou—eh, make it two hours—a day."
"But—"
"Uh-uh, no negotiation. That's the deal, take it or leave it."
He sighed, swiping the spoon out of her hands. "Proud of yourself? Locking a wounded man in a box?" But she caught the smile sticking out of his swollen cheek.
She simpered, crossing her arms triumphantly in her seat. "I'll recover. And you will too, if you know what's good for you." She slurped her own stew of canned corned beef and yellow lima beans and leaned forward. "You promise that after you eat you'll sleep?" She was still grinning but the question was serious.
"It's… it's the middle of the day," he argued, "I ain't—aren't… wait, no, uh, am not going to catch any shut-eye."
"Well then just lie down. Heal." She took his hand, still pink around the wrist from the rope burn. "Please? For me?"
His response was a faultless compound of a groan and chuckle. "Why do you have to do that?"
"What?" she asked innocently.
"You know. Flutter them eyelashes—"
"Those—"
"—and have such soft hands, and—" he groaned again, jerking his hand from hers like it was infecting him, before he decided he'd rather live with the disease and squeezed it again, running each of her warm fingers between his. "Fine, fine. You know I can't say no to you."
"I know." She flipped the hair from her left to right shoulder, blocking the bright glare from the full, golden sun.
"Would ya keep me company, though?" he asked.
"Hmm, will that put you right on to sleep?" she teased.
"No, but—
"There he is!" Bill announced from across camp, ambling over to them with his arms bouncing merrily at his side.
Oh God… Mary-Beth slumped her head on the wooden table.
Bill leaned down to one knee, slinking an arm over Kieran's shoulder. "My partner in crime! How you feelin'?"
"Uh, g-good," Kieran answered, nervously scooping an oily ounce with his spoon and letting it fall back into the dish with a wet plop.
"Good, good you're feelin' good, cuz I got something good too…" Bill sucked in a breath, letting the anticipation drag out. "Time for another debt!"
"Already?" Kieran and Mary-Beth said in unison. The former looked to the Austrian pleasantly resubmitting the camp's paltry fund into his new red wooden box. "Are you kiddin' me, Strauss?! How can you be collectin', we got here days ago!"
The turtle without a shell just shrugged. "It's legal work."
"Yes sir it is," Bill said, pushing Kieran's food out of reach. "C'mon, boy, let's get at 'er. Never put off to tomorrow what can be done today—like Dutch always says."
Before Mary-Beth could blink, Bill had lifted Kieran onto his feet, leading him forward with that fat arm coiled around his neck like a noose.
"Wait a minute!" Mary-Beth called, hopping up so fast her chair fell over. And she fell over it trying to catch up to the two men that passed Strauss' tent by, nearing Branwen and Brown Jack. "You moneygrubbin' devil with a funny accent!" she called to the old man as she followed.
"It's legal work," was its only response.
Bill had just hoisted a damaged Kieran onto his horse when Mary-Beth grabbed him by his brown vest. "How dense can you be? He's hurt. He ain't goin' nowhere."
Bill plucked her hand off and threw it back down to her side. "He's fine. Besides, we need money."
"I just stuck my neck out to make six thousand dollars for you! The hell you mean we need money!" She dug her fingernail into his chest, cursing herself for trimming it a few nights back.
Bill took off his hand and rubbed his free hand along his bald head, collecting the sweat. "Them bonds ain't been cashed yet, so for now, them pieces a' paper might as well be cigarette cards. And if you live in a world where more money ain't a good thing, it ain't this world."
"Bill, if you want to go and rob some folk—and that's what it is, cuz there ain't no way anyone coulda possibly pay back a debt in less than a goddamn week—"—she screamed that last part so Strauss could hear it even with his checked out hearing—"then knock yourself out. But you don't need to go dragging a man who could barely stand a few days along with you."
"I ain't 'dragging' no one. Kieran wants this, don't you?" His small round head shot to the figure on horseback.
Kieran gulped before answering. "Ah… n-no, Bill, I don't think I do."
Williamson's tiny eyes widened with shock. Betrayal, even. "You… don't… think… you do?" Bill repeated absentmindedly, like a parrot.
"Y-yeah," Kieran continued, tightening the reins on his horse, "I-I'd rather not… I-I can't… they're good people. Most times. And for what? For a few bucks. I-I ain't that mean…"
"But I am?" Bill said, puffing out heavy breaths. His eyes never left Kieran.
"N-no… that ain't what I—"
"Listen here, you goddamn O'Driscoll!" Bill growled. "You're dead weight, and you need to start earning your keep! You think you're entitled something after that night? Our respect? A place among us? You served your purpose, you idiot! The O'Driscolls are through! Had! We don't need you anymore, so if you want us to keep needing you, you had better make yourself goddamn useful!"
"Stop!" Mary-Beth shrieked. "Stop with your damn guilt trippin' Bill! You heard his answer!"
"Stay out of this, you bitch!" he barked. She could taste the whiskey on his breath. "He's my friend, not yours!"
"What the hell's goin' on?!" came a voice from behind them. It was Abigail, followed by Grimshaw, then Javier.
Bill glanced lowly at them, a little less confident."I want to take the boy on a job so he can contribute some."
"You will do no such thing!" Grimshaw said, marching forward. A few weeks ago she wanted him kicked out. Curiouser and curiouser… "That boy is in no shape to ride around camp, let alone get engaged in a damn job!"
"It's-it's—"
"Step off, you old bag, this don't concern you!"
"The fuck it don't! I will not allow you to kidnap this sick man! This is not what he needs now!"
"It's o-kkk—"
"Bill, you can't force him to go if he don't—"
"Shut it, Javier!"
"It's okay!" Kieran shouted, garnering everyone's attention. "Really. I-I w-want to. It'll be no problem."
Bill smirked right at Mary-Beth and she ran to slap him, but he simply caught her hand and shoved her away. "Kieran," she said, rubbing her hand as Bill mounted atop Brown Jack, "don't let him bully you. This isn't what you want, you fuckin' said as much!"
"I-I want to contribute," he whispered.
"You ain't got nothin' to prove. Not to no one." She stole his hand like she did before, cradling it. It was cold. "Don't leave. You just promised me you wouldn't. If I went light on the reading, remember? Well… w-we can go down to an hour of reading. Or less. We can talk. But don't do this. I want you safe."
"I'm sorry—"
"STOP SAYING YOU'RE SORRY!" She felt the tears bulging in her eyes and she didn't know why.
"C'mon," Bill said, a shit-eating grin stamped on his face, "let's get a move on."
And the blue-green waves in Kieran's eyes turned away from her as he slipped his hand from her grasp back onto the black leather reins of Branwen.
And just before he took off on Bill's heels, Mary-Beth leapt onto the white steed behind him.
"Then I'm coming too," she said, kicking the horse's ribs, propelling it into motion before anyone could stop her.
"No," Kieran said, trying to achieve eye contact over his shoulder, failing. "This-this ain't for you!"
"Isn't," she corrected, "but I'm coming…" she pinched the back of his neck sharp enough to arrest his attention, "...or you can tell your pal ahead of us that you've changed your mind and are going to go back and get some rest like you should be doing."
Kieran glanced to the burly man whistling as he rode, either oblivious to Mary-Beth's involvement or uncaring. He slumped his chin and grumbled. Branwen galloped harder, past the moist dark-green vegetation until his hooves finally touched the softer, less morose grass that sat across from the Elysium Pool, north of Butcher's Creek.
The house was a small blip of weary brown in an ocean of vivid green. The front steps were so worn in they perked into arches, six little smiles bidding them welcome as they hitched their horses by a nearly deforested thicket a few meters away.
"Wait by the horses," Bill ordered at her with his hard eyes as the trio plopped down into a puddle of mud.
Instead, Mary-Beth pinched his double-action revolver out of his second holster. "No thanks. Oh, and thanks." She waved the gun in his face. Pays to be a pickpocket, I suppose.
Though, I feel compelled to add, it also pays to be a former army ruffian. Mary-Beth learned that when Bill had his pudgy fingers around her throat before she could stop it. They smelled like his two favorite things: eating and scratching his ass. Mary-Beth gagged.
"Whoa Bill," Kieran cut in, boring his own fingers beneath Bill's and snapping them wide like a crab claw. "C-cool it." His smile was bent and nervous. "We-we're all friends here. No one needs to get aggressive."
Bill never quit leering at Mary-Beth. "I'm in control, here."
"Of course you are," Kieran diffused. "But what does one extra gun hurt? She'll stay back, won't you, Mary-Beth?" His eyes were pleading and sea-green and nearly irresistible. Still, she didn't say a word.
Bill grunted and spiraled to their target. They walked together in unison, Kieran and Mary-Beth on either side of Bill, one step behind.
"W-who's the debtor, anyway?" Kieran asked.
"Arthur Londonderry," their brilliant and resourceful leader answered, "a miner."
"Great," Mary-Beth grumbled, "and just how was this feller supposed to pay us back when we torched his office with dynamite? And for that matter, how was he supposed to pay us back, with interest, mind you, in such a short amount a' time? It's been days."
"Not my problem. That goes to both of your questions."
"That goes to every question you ever heard."
Mary-Beth felt the mud on her thigh and felt dirty in more ways than one; they gave this family a penny, and a day later, came for a pound. It's robbery, is what it is. That she was no stranger to, but by her profession's standards, she considered herself a saint. She only stole from men wandering in and out of brothels and saloons—granted that was partially because a sober man always clutches his purse tighter than an inebriated one, but it was also because if a man was going to burn his money on hooch and cooch, where was the harm in burning that money herself—on food and housing? (I'd like to remind you once again that I am simply illustrating her line of reasoning; if it was up to me, I'd hang her twice—just to be sure.) But this? A working man—a family man, judging by the hobby horse sleeping on the front porch.
She remembered reading Dracula, remembered what it said about vampires. They can't enter a house unless they've been invited in. Unless the door's been opened for them. And as the three of them trodded over those six crooked smiles leading to the porch, Mary-Beth couldn't help studying Bill's teeth for sharp growths.
"Mr. Londonderry! You owe us money! Let us in, or we are within our rights as Americans to break in your door!"
A silence fell over them, but it wasn't real. It was the silence of night when you could still hear the buzz buzz of mosquitos whispering in your ear, suckling at your neck. And they heard it still. Buzz buzz. The house was not empty; there were people inside. They were murmuring, speaking lowly so they wouldn't be noticed. Buzz buzz, buzz buzz.
Mary-Beth felt a mosquito on her neck, but when she looked down it wasn't a bug, it was Dutch. His teeth were as long as fingers and his smile was scarlett and wet. And he was biting her breast, sucking every drop of blood out of her teat like it was milk. Her head spun, she felt like she was going to vomit.
Then a soft, raspy voice came from the house. "H-hello?"
"Mrs. Londonderry?" Bill asked.
"Y-y-yes sir…" she croaked, "w-what can I do for you?"
Bill leaned in by Kieran and when his lips finished moving, the boy went pale as a sheet… or as a vampire… and he hopped down the lying smiling porch steps, rushing to the left side of the house. "Mrs. Londonderry," Bill said, raising his voice, "we lent you money, remember? Time's up, we're here to collect."
"Oh… well, I'm afraid my h-husb-band isn't here right now. Come back in a few hours, he'll h-have the money, I swear…"
She went on with her excuse, but Mary-Beth stopped listening. Because Bill pulled her close and spoke softly in her ear. "She's got a gun to her head. Run 'round to the side. When I go in, start firing. I'll go low, so you aim high—duck down when you do so Kieran doesn't hit ya from the other side."
He pushed her away and she hurried, though floated is probably more accurate, to the right side of the tiny shack. She squatted like he told her, lifting her gun high too. It was brass but lightweight, yet Mary-Beth's hands still shook as she struggled to cock the hammer back, fumbling over it twice.
"Tell ya what ma'am," Bill called from the front door, "I'll come back in three hours, does that sound good?"
"S-s-sure—"
"Actually, y'know what? Make it two."
"I t-think—"
"One!"
Craaaash! Closing her eyes, Mary-Beth let fly at hearing the door splinter open, riding her gun's trigger until it went click. The adrenaline pulled in three more times. She heard gunshots and glass shatter and bodies hitting the floor. She wanted to call out, but her tongue was slithering down her stomach.
When the silence, true dead silence, came, she was relieved to find it broken by the big bald man's boisterous voice. "It's clear!"
Mary-Beth sighed, then gasped, briefly fantasizing her bullets had ricocheted off and hit her instead. Heh, wouldn't it have been funny if two hit her in the neck—like a vampire bite? Alas, no. No, the bullets ate right through those sodden wooden walls and kissed her marks, discombobulating them long enough for Bill and Kieran's lucky shots to pick them off.
When she entered the home, she found Kieran already inside aside from Bill. And six pale corpses, leaning over each other because the house was too cramped to allow otherwise.
"Murfree Brood," Mary-Beth cursed. "Goddamn maniacs."
"G-good job back there, Bill," Kieran said.
He didn't say a word, didn't even acknowledge that Kieran had spoken, but under his thick brown beard, Bill Williamson cracked a small smile.
"Oh, God," Mary-Beth said, rushing over and grabbing one of the Murfree cadavers by the arm; it was far too heavy—she knew about dead weight, but the man was still gaunt as a twig, she thought she'd be able to.
Kieran ran over and helped her. Bill raided the liquor cabinet.
Underneath the dead Murfree, was a shivering, shaking Mrs. Londonderry. And clutched at her bosom, was a little boy.
"A-A-A-Arth-th-th-u-u-u—" she kept rambling again and again.
"It's okay," Mary-Beth lied, lifting the battered woman onto her feet and guiding her to a blood-stained stool.
"A-Arth-th-u-ur…" the woman moaned again. From what Mary-Beth could discern, the boy was the last male Londonderry.
"You're safe now," Kieran assured her, trying to sound soothing—not succeeding with his high-pitched, consistently anxious voice.
Bill marched over—Mary-Beth didn't need to turn around to see. She could hear the whining creak creak of the floorboards under his weight. "Be kind," she begged him.
He downed a gulp of a metal tin, then dry heaved, spitting it out all over the mother and son. "This is milk." He said it like she'd slipped him poison. "Where is your whiskey?"
Mrs. Londonderry began crying, and not the soft whimpering kind, the all-out screaming crying. Bill's eyes—and subsequently his question—fell to the boy next. He shook his head. "Father McMillan says it's a vice."
Bill leaned close, lowering his head to an equal spot with the boy. "Was it Father McMillan who just saved your worthless ass, or me?"
"Bill!" Mary-Beth cried, tugging him by his shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"Nothing," he growled, his hands trembling. "Just thirsty." He sighed. "Let's just get the money and get lost."
Kieran cleared his throat. "Bill, I don't think there is any—"
Bill cupped his oversized hand on the child's undersized head. The boy stared with cold blue eyes. "You're gonna answer me a few questions, and then we're gonna leave ya be. Now, where is the damn money?"
"Bill!" She grabbed him by the chin this time, forcing him to notice her. "Stop. They've been through a lot. Just stop."
"I'm in charge here." His breath was moist from the milk and a few silk droplets splattered onto her freckled cheeks.
"It's not about being in charge, you idiot!" Her voice simmered to scarcely above a whisper. "You know what's right."
"C'mon, Bill," Kieran added, "you know we don't need the money. You did good, let's leave it here."
He sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "Mrs. Londonderry? I—oh God. Mrs. Londonderry, if you could stop crying for one fuckin' minute, I've got good news. It might not seem it, but it's your lucky day: debt's canceled… I'm sorry 'bout your husband." He turned to Mary-Beth. "There. We happy?"
She couldn't help a smirk. "Knew you wasn't all bad."
"Weren't. Let's have some damn ettiquette." His beard hid another smile, but Mary-Beth saw and noted it. I'll tease him about it later.
Bill began walking out the door, when Kieran, one step ahead of Mary-Beth, stopped him. "Wait, we… we can't leave 'em here."
Bill glanced back at the black-haired boy and the weeping woman. "No—"
"C'mon, we have to—"
"No, there is enough baggage we're haulin'. I ain't comin' back to camp with no money and two more mouths to feed."
"They'll earn their keep," Mary-Beth argued.
"What? A seven-year-old boy and a widow?"
"Our last widow is workin' out pretty good for us," Kieran said, patting Bill on the back.
"Not for you."
"W-we won't mention that."
"Bill, please, if we just leave 'em, you know what will—"
"Be afraid, little boy," came the low voice behind them. "You worthless mooching fairy."
Bill went rigid. His mouth dropped. His breath accelerated and Kieran suddenly removed his hand, scared he would lose it. Slowly, he turned to face the child. "What did you say?"
"He told me that. In the dark." The boy's head was slumped so all you could see was his long black bangs swaying as he sat on his sobbing mother's lap.
"Who?" Bill seemed to have fangs then.
An unexplained fear took hold of Mary-Beth so suddenly she found she couldn't breathe. "Bill—"
He pushed past her. Creak creak.
Stepped over the pallid sacks of flesh, staining his boots red. Creak creak.
Stood over the boy and his mother. Creak creak.
"Who said that to you?"
Mary-Beth placed her hand on Bill's right shoulder, Kieran his left. They whispered in his ear together.
"Bill, he's just a boy."
"Calm down."
"Hell, he's probably talkin' about me… heh."
They were like two angels on his shoulders. That's good, right? Mary-Beth thought. If there's no devils, nothin' bad can happen…
"What did you say?" Bill repeated softly to the child.
The boy was paler than Death's horse, and when his ice-blue eyes cut into Mary-Beth's she forgot it was still summer. "Why did he do it?" A single tear slid down his cheek.
Bill bent down, so slowly Mary-Beth didn't even realize he had until he was face to face with the boy, wiping his tear away with his dirty thumb, leaving a fleck of soot. "Because you deserved it." And then he punched the child.
"BILL!" She grabbed his face, clawing it, holding him back. He elbowed her in the ribs so hard she heard a crack. He swatted Kieran away like a bug and slapped Mrs. Londonderry onto the ground. Then, panting deeper than a bear, he crawled on top of the little boy. Mary-Beth, wheezing on the ground, saw his dark figure stretched over the small one, knees astride the boy's chest, groins meeting. She saw the tiny legs fight for life. And she saw them fall limp.
"No!" Mrs. Londonderry screeched, yanking at her auburn hair, ripping out chunks. She charged at Kieran, fingers out like talons. Bang! She hit the floor, her eyes wide open, but they weren't dry—they were drenched. With tears.
"I-I-I didn't m-m-mean to…" Kieran stammered, dropping the revolver as though it had burned him. Heh, well, his hands were red…
Bill rose, cleaning his palms on his mahogany jacket. "The hell are you lookin' at?" he said to Mary-Beth.
"You… monster…" she whispered, full of loathing.
Bill glanced back at his handiwork. "Kid said somethin' he shouldn't have said."
"He was a boy!" she screamed. "A little boy, barely older than Jack!"
Bill sighed. "In retrospect, I may have overreacted…" And he shrugged. He fucking shrugged.
Mary-Beth squeezed her cracked rib, trying to use the pain to dissuade her from doing something she'd regret. It wasn't working. She felt nothing but hatred for this man, nothing but horror and disgust and Arthur's knife in her pocket. And she reached for it…
Kieran beat her to the punch, clouting Bill with the butt of his gun. He tackled the hefty man, coiling his arms over his chest and throwing both of them out the front door, rolling down six smiles to the itching grass below.
Bill rolled on top of Kieran, pinning him in the mud. "The hell's wrong with you? She came at you—it wasn't your fault." He screamed next when Mary-Beth buried the knife in his arm. Kieran slipped free and planted a good kick in Bill's face, sending him on his back. "Have you lost your minds?!"
"Those were good folk!" Kieran yelled at the top of his lungs. "Good folk, and they're dead! Because of you!"
"I said I was sorry, what more do you want?" Bill rose, grunting as he plucked out the knife.
"A-and I… helped." Kieran exhaled raspily and turned away. Mary-Beth followed him to Branwen, who looked at his owner with large loving eyes and Kieran dug his face into the creature's mane, sniffling, nearly sobbing. She was tempted to pull him out—it couldn't have been good for his still-healing wounds—but couldn't muster the strength. She felt like a used-up pen.
"I made a mistake back there," she heard Bill say, right behind her. She could feel his hot breath, could taste his stink. "I ain't ashamed to admit it. But… y'know, that's what you do: your friends fuck up and you forgive 'em for—"
Kieran spun and delivered a punch so out of character it knocked Bill on his ass. "Shut up," he roared, "we ain't friends. Ain't never been friends. I never liked you, not never. Not one bit! You've got no one, nothing! You simpleton… You retard… Why don't you go and do us all a favor… and die!"
Mary-Beth mounted Branwen after Kieran and they rode off. She needed to read, needed escape, needed to forget about how awful this world was. And when they returned, that's exactly what she did, digging her nose in a book and wishing in her heart that the two vampires in her life would never return.
We're back, baby! Sorry for the long delay, I'll try to announce it beforehand if it arises again.
Bill's behavior here will be revealed much later on, though anyone who remembers the phrase "worthless mooching fairy," from chapter 4 might already be seeing where this is going... Of course I'm always available to message if anyone wants to know now.
Just four more chapters left in Act II...