Chapter Text
Lynchwood was not yet a ghost town. It held onto life as one did in the harsh desert. The mines were not yet barren and work was steady, but so many were drawn to the promises of Opportunity far to the West. Those that stayed were a hearty bunch, prone to trouble. In short, it was her kind of town.
The setting sun gleamed off her shiny sheriff’s badge, glowing like the ember of her cigarette. She did one last patrol of the town on horseback. Her black steed kept a steady pace. She liked the quiet hours, where the town was the most peaceful. The last train of the night had already rattled through, bringing them nothing, not even hope. It was a harsh world out on the borderlands. The only thing holding it together was the law.
The moon had risen fully by the time her horse trotted up to the old mansion. She had stopped a few times along the path to ensure she wasn’t tailed. Not a soul could know about her trips.
The house had been built of the finest imported woods, styled in a sharp gothic look. She thought it was opulent as all hell. And gaudy. The wrought iron gate was tall as two men, with bars spaced tightly enough that no man or child could slip between the bars.
Nisha dismounted, pulling keys from her duster’s pockets. The old gate swung open with a creak. Her horse was surprisingly still despite the noise. One last glance over her shoulder. Nothing but empty desert and pale moonlight.
She left her steed to wander the grounds of the mansion. He could take care of himself, but mostly he was content to graze on the scraps of grass. The night was clear, the air not yet frigid. It was going to be a long, hot summer. Full of fights.
Sighing, she stepped up to the patio. She hated coming out this far away from town. Hated the implications of each visit. She braced herself as she stepped in.
The foyer was papered with expensive flowery yellow wallpaper. A large portrait hung over a fireplace, a gash through the canvas. There weren’t nearly as many cobwebs as she anticipated. This time, her boots didn’t leave a trail through the dust on the floor. If anything, it was cleaner than she had ever seen the place.
Nisha mounted the stairs, keeping her weight on the edge of each step to avoid making a sound. Her heart thudded dully in her chest. Her fingers danced over the handrail, made of polished oak. She hated everything about the manse. The wealth, the overabundance of detail and waste.
The hallways were seemingly endless in the gloom of night. Only a handful of lanterns were lit, all strategically placed away from windows. She reached the last door.
She shut her eyes. Letting out a slow breath, she tapped on the door.
“Come in.” A thin, feminine voice drifted on the still air.
She swung the door open and found a young woman bundled in blankets, her pale face almost skeletal. Her light blue eyes were still lively.
“Hey, kid. How’re you holdin’ up?”
“I’m doing better. Timothy says I’m getting stronger.”
“Where’s ol’ Tim anyway?”
“He had something at the mine to work on, but he should be home soon.”
“You think he’s doin’ alright?”
“No one can tell he’s not--” The girl cut herself off, eyes clouding, darkening the shadows under her eyes.
Nisha rested her hand on the girl’s thin arm.
“Angel, he’s gone now, he can’t hurt you.”
“I know. I just… I hate that Timothy looks like him. They’re not the same, but…”
“Yeah, I know. I shoulda killed him before it got that bad.”
She lowered herself on the bed next to the girl. Angel leaned against her. They sat together in silence. Angel’s small hand wrapped around two of her fingers in a loose grip. When she tired of the contact, Nisha dug in her duster’s pockets, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in brown paper and twine.
“Got you a little somethin’ when I was in town last. Winger’s goin’ over to Opportunity soon, so if you’ve got any requests, let me know.”
Angel’s pale hands ghosted over the package. It took her a few tries to get the knot out of the twine. Nisha watched her with something akin to affection. The kid might as well have been her daughter. Angel was silent as she considered the book in her hands. Her face lit up in a smile that threatened to melt Nisha’s heart. She couldn’t have anyone knowing how soft she was toward the kid.
“I love it, thank you! I don’t think I need anything, but I’m sure Timothy might have a few requests. He’s been in over his head.”
“I’ll send him a telegram tomorrow. Now, if you need anything, you just send me a line and I’ll be here soon as I can.”
“Of course, Nisha.”
Nisha leaned over the girl, pressing her lips to her forehead.
“Yer fever’s gone.”
Those pale eyes, underlined by deep bags were so full of life, of pain. Nisha couldn’t fight back the smile even as she rose from the bed.
“Told you I’m getting better.”
“Now you take care, kid. I’ll be back at the end of the week unless you need somethin’.”
Nisha paused in the doorway, giving Angel one last glance.
“Be careful out there, Nisha.”
“I will, kid.”
She started to pull the door closed behind her. A weight had settled in over her heart; this was her debt, her albatross.
“I love you, Nisha.”
She hesitated, nearly catching her own heel with the door. She smiled despite her best effort.
“Love you too, Angel.”
Nisha saw herself out of the mansion. As she went to lock the door, a man sidled up to her. He looked weary and disheveled, but she recognized him immediately. It was hard not to recognize the sharp angles of his face and the single streak of grey in his brown hair. She tipped her hat.
“Tim.”
“Nisha.”
They both bore the weight of the Baron’s death and the legacy he left behind. She imagined that she carried more of the weight. After all, his blood was on her hands. Timothy just happened to be a nearly perfect doppelganger of the Baron. He inherited the wealth, the power. The sick daughter that Jack had poisoned. But Nisha also carried the brunt of that.
--
She rode silently back into town, mind clouded with her thoughts. There had been pressure from another posse, folks Jack had branded bandits and monsters. But she had learned differently. How she had ever loved a man that cruel was beyond her. Now she had to work her way out of his shadow. It never got easier.
Only one light was left burning in the Sheriff’s office. Winger had lit her lamp for her. He usually lit the lamp to her rooms before he left for the night. He didn’t have far to go and seemed guilty to leave his boss in the dark. Not that she minded, she did her best thinking in the dark stillness of the jailhouse she called home.
Horse stabled, she made her way to the front door. A rustle of fabric made her stop, keys in hand.
“Out rather late, aren’t we, Sheriff?”
“Ma’am?”
Nisha turned. The woman in question still wore a corset. And breeches. Many had considered her the town weirdo, a fop in a new age. Her vivid red hair almost glowed under lamplight.
“Catching nefarious ne’er-do-wells?”
“Uh, not particularly, Miss Scarlett.”
It was rather well-known through Lynchwood that Scarlett was referred to as Captain, owing to her claim of having been a pirate before coming out west. The only credit to that was her eyepatch and pegleg. Only Nisha seemed to get away with calling her ‘miss’.
“Hm, then it’s rather odd. I did not see you at the saloon, nor were you at your usual haunts.”
“You need somethin’, Miss Scarlett?”
Her one good eye, silver as the moon on a dark night glittered. Nisha was torn between an urge to give the woman a good slug across the face or kiss her; she never could seem to decide.
“Oh, me? Never, I was just checking in on our estimable Sheriff, that’s all.”
“Well, you have yourself a good night.”
Nisha punctuated her statement by closing the door in Scarlett’s face. The woman was trouble. Trouble that made her sweat under her vest and made it awful hard for her to sleep at night. She was an odd duck, but seemed to know all the goings-on in town.
And after that encounter, she had a good feeling she wasn’t going to get any rest that night.