Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-03-19 11:48 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-03-19 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
X. Life is short, but sweet for certain...
[I came to you with best intentions...]
For months, Katherine James spent her days in Refugio in a relative peace, falling into a pleasant routine. She taught English to a classroom of seventeen bright-eyed children every morning, and another class of twelve teenagers in the afternoons. She and Karl had become fast friends, though she had begun to notice the way his young eyes lingered on her face long after she finished speaking, or the way his fingers would tremble whenever he helped her across a street.
She was even growing accustomed to calling her stuffy, two-room apartment "home," taking the time to decorate with handmade curtains and fresh flowers she could buy at the apothecary down the street.
The door back to Milliways hadn't reappeared, and it was now growing into late April. She began to wonder about her friends, and the uncertain terms in which she had left. She wondered if the door only worked from Green Lake, or if perhaps it had all been a wild dream after all. She wondered if Doc was worried. She wondered if maybe she was losing her mind.
(She still spoke to Sam, asking his forgiveness every night like a prayer left to hang in the bleak, humid air until morning.)
After a while, the nagging fear that her one night of imprudence would leave her pregnant and alone in her new home began to lessen. The memory eventually became more of a curiosity—evidence she used at night, when she held court in her mind to prove and disprove Milliways' existence, unable to decide which outcome would be of more comfort to her—than a real concern. She was finally beginning to believe that things would be all right. She had achieved a level of normalcy in her new life, a measure of happiness and contentment. She was doing what she loved, in a town where no one looked at her with contempt or unease. But she never went anywhere without her gun—kept neatly hidden away from inquisitive eyes—and she never turned her back to local law.
(The sheriff, however, had grown to like her quite a bit.)
She was heading back to school one breezy afternoon, following a meal taken at Miss Jirou's hotel, when an unfamiliar voice interrupted her wandering recital of what would be this afternoon's lesson.
"Miss Katherine Barlow?"
She turned without thinking, her blood going cold the instant she realized her error. Her stomach hit her feet when she caught the glint off their sixes, and though the two men wore no badges, she just knew.
The speaker, standing akimbo, sucked his teeth in much the same fashion as Trout Walker always had. And when he smiled, the light gleamed off his one gold tooth.
"My, my," he chuckled, stepping closer. "Always expected you'd be bigger. What about you, Abe? This look like Green Lake's cold-blooded sheriff killer t'you?"
"Reckon she fits the description," answered his partner, cowhide duster billowing around his ankles as he trailed behind. "Blue eyes like fresh water, and hair gold as was bobbed from a ray of sunlight. Pretty lil' thing."
"Reckon so."
She couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Eyes riveted on the first man—his eyes were dark gray, poisoned steam spilling from a smokestack, made all the more ominous from the shadow of his wide-brimmed white cowboy hat—she allowed him to close the distance between them, only moving when his hand curled tight around her right arm. She stepped back, nearly falling off the boardwalk.
"I'm afraid we've been sent t'take you into custody, Miss Barlow."
"Y-you're mistaken," stuttered Katherine, heels hitting dirt. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"I ain't a judge," he said, and they both chuckled darkly. "Just the hired gun the Walker's sent to bring you on t'justice. Supposin' you can make your case to them."
Her heart leaped into her throat at his words, and almost involuntarily she found her feet shuffling quicker in a terrified effort to get away. His grip wasn't loosening, though he indulged her in letting her move back. She was leading them straight into an alleyway—a dead end—so he was confident enough that she wouldn't be going very far.
"Please."
"Now, come on, Miss. I can't stand t'see a woman beg."
Beat.
"Unless it's for the right reasons."
He leered at her.
She was horrified to feel the solidity of brick at her back. She realized they had reached the end of the alley, and with the two men boxing her in she was surely trapped.
"You sure are a purty little thing."
"Prettiest charge we ever been given, 'at's for sure."
"That's for damn sure."
"Please," she whispered, shaking as she felt his hand slide up her arm to her throat. "I can't go back."
"...Well. I reckon we might be able to make some kinduva deal."
"Marshall?"
The Pinkerton's eyes were focused on Katherine and clouded with desire.
"I'll be quick, Abe."
Katherine moved to get away, but he only shoved her back against that wall. She grunted as her bones grated over brick, swallowing hard against the pressure of his hand wrapped around her throat. She was choking, but she was too terrified to sputter.
"Who woulda thought, a bitty thing like you?"
His thumb grazed her lower lip, and it took everything in her power not to whimper out of fright.
"Though, I can see how you could start a mess like this, looks like yours. Modern day Helen o' Troy. Or, what did they call you?" He trailed off in thought. "The 'angel of Green Lake'?"
She gazed about in desperation, but found no passersby. She was alone (again) in a darkened alley with two would-be lawmen. Abe turned his back to them and kept watch over the distant broad way.
"So what do you say?"
Her blue eyes went wide, heartbeat raging in her chest as he pressed his body closer.
click.
There was a quiet moment of surprise for Marshall, who dropped his attention to the petite hand holding cold iron to his gut.
Katherine jumped, smoke curling off the barrel of her gun as his body fell backwards into the dirt. The light was gone from his eyes even before the dust clouds had time to settle.
".....Why you little—"
Abe scrabbled for his gun, but it was secure in his holster. He hadn't thumbed off the "safety" yet—that small loop of leather that fitted over the hammer—and that, of course, bought Katherine a few extra seconds to gather her wits about her.
She didn't blink.
Leveling her arm at his head, she cocked her gun in one fluid motion and
The impact split his forehead clean open, and blood erupted from the gaping hole left in his skull. He crumpled to the earth beside his partner.
Everything seemed quiet.
Katherine was breathing heavily, arm still rigidly pointed out where Abe's head had been. But her eyes were on the bloody corpses at her feet.
She heard a scream, and when she looked up she could see people beginning to gather on the street at the alleyway entrance. The gunfire had drawn a gentleman, and then another, and eventually a woman who had been so aghast at the sight that she screamed and screamed.
More faces appeared.
Katherine's attention fell to her handiwork again, and she watched as the blood began to run together and pool in the dirt. Her hand was shaking by the time she finally lowered her arm.
There was a heaviness, a sickness, a weight on her heart. She had run, she had left everything behind, and now, after everything
She wasn't getting out.
((Blood pooling at her shoes.))
And then
it all
clicked.
She set her jaw.
She squared her shoulders.
And when her eyes went back to the crowd (that woman, still screaming bloody murder you're a murderer) there was a deep and abiding coldness in her gaze. Like a snake, like a serpent, cold and cruel.
In one fell motion she extended her arm again, gun cocked and trained on the throng.
"Someone shut that woman up!" she seethed, marching five angry paces towards the growing number of onlookers. "Or I swear t'God, I'll shut her up myself!"
Someone reached for the woman, hands moving to cover her mouth. The whole mob murmured and gasped, falling silent with fear.
Kate turned her head over her shoulder and looked again on her victims, and it was almost natural, almost automatic, to move for Marshall's body.
(His cowboy hat had tumbled from his head when he hit the dirt, and was now at rest a few feet away, upturned and sprinkled with blood.)
She left a kiss on his pallid forehead.
(And another on the back of Abe's hand.)
It would only be a matter of time now before local law caught up with her, so she would have to move quickly. After all, she had no intentions of getting caught.
Ever again.
"Move aside!"
She strode headfirst into the crowd, gun still at the ready. The assembly parted for her, and as she moved through (marveling at how easy it was to do so), her eyes fell upon a familiar splash of copper, and a set of hazel eyes.
She jerked to a stop, heart turning flips in her stomach.
Karl simply gazed at her—without fear, or disgust, or horror; but with sadness, and regret. He bowed his head, eyes falling to her feet.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her own eyes hitting the ground.
And then she came up alongside him, and paused.
"I'm so sorry, Karl."
He didn't answer, but then she didn't wait around for him to anyway.
.
For months, Katherine James spent her days in Refugio in a relative peace, falling into a pleasant routine. She taught English to a classroom of seventeen bright-eyed children every morning, and another class of twelve teenagers in the afternoons. She and Karl had become fast friends, though she had begun to notice the way his young eyes lingered on her face long after she finished speaking, or the way his fingers would tremble whenever he helped her across a street.
She was even growing accustomed to calling her stuffy, two-room apartment "home," taking the time to decorate with handmade curtains and fresh flowers she could buy at the apothecary down the street.
The door back to Milliways hadn't reappeared, and it was now growing into late April. She began to wonder about her friends, and the uncertain terms in which she had left. She wondered if the door only worked from Green Lake, or if perhaps it had all been a wild dream after all. She wondered if Doc was worried. She wondered if maybe she was losing her mind.
(She still spoke to Sam, asking his forgiveness every night like a prayer left to hang in the bleak, humid air until morning.)
After a while, the nagging fear that her one night of imprudence would leave her pregnant and alone in her new home began to lessen. The memory eventually became more of a curiosity—evidence she used at night, when she held court in her mind to prove and disprove Milliways' existence, unable to decide which outcome would be of more comfort to her—than a real concern. She was finally beginning to believe that things would be all right. She had achieved a level of normalcy in her new life, a measure of happiness and contentment. She was doing what she loved, in a town where no one looked at her with contempt or unease. But she never went anywhere without her gun—kept neatly hidden away from inquisitive eyes—and she never turned her back to local law.
(The sheriff, however, had grown to like her quite a bit.)
She was heading back to school one breezy afternoon, following a meal taken at Miss Jirou's hotel, when an unfamiliar voice interrupted her wandering recital of what would be this afternoon's lesson.
"Miss Katherine Barlow?"
She turned without thinking, her blood going cold the instant she realized her error. Her stomach hit her feet when she caught the glint off their sixes, and though the two men wore no badges, she just knew.
The speaker, standing akimbo, sucked his teeth in much the same fashion as Trout Walker always had. And when he smiled, the light gleamed off his one gold tooth.
"My, my," he chuckled, stepping closer. "Always expected you'd be bigger. What about you, Abe? This look like Green Lake's cold-blooded sheriff killer t'you?"
"Reckon she fits the description," answered his partner, cowhide duster billowing around his ankles as he trailed behind. "Blue eyes like fresh water, and hair gold as was bobbed from a ray of sunlight. Pretty lil' thing."
"Reckon so."
She couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Eyes riveted on the first man—his eyes were dark gray, poisoned steam spilling from a smokestack, made all the more ominous from the shadow of his wide-brimmed white cowboy hat—she allowed him to close the distance between them, only moving when his hand curled tight around her right arm. She stepped back, nearly falling off the boardwalk.
"I'm afraid we've been sent t'take you into custody, Miss Barlow."
"Y-you're mistaken," stuttered Katherine, heels hitting dirt. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"I ain't a judge," he said, and they both chuckled darkly. "Just the hired gun the Walker's sent to bring you on t'justice. Supposin' you can make your case to them."
Her heart leaped into her throat at his words, and almost involuntarily she found her feet shuffling quicker in a terrified effort to get away. His grip wasn't loosening, though he indulged her in letting her move back. She was leading them straight into an alleyway—a dead end—so he was confident enough that she wouldn't be going very far.
"Please."
"Now, come on, Miss. I can't stand t'see a woman beg."
Beat.
"Unless it's for the right reasons."
He leered at her.
She was horrified to feel the solidity of brick at her back. She realized they had reached the end of the alley, and with the two men boxing her in she was surely trapped.
"You sure are a purty little thing."
"Prettiest charge we ever been given, 'at's for sure."
"That's for damn sure."
"Please," she whispered, shaking as she felt his hand slide up her arm to her throat. "I can't go back."
"...Well. I reckon we might be able to make some kinduva deal."
'I'll make you a deal. One sweet kiss, and I won't hang your boyfriend.'
"Marshall?"
The Pinkerton's eyes were focused on Katherine and clouded with desire.
"I'll be quick, Abe."
Katherine moved to get away, but he only shoved her back against that wall. She grunted as her bones grated over brick, swallowing hard against the pressure of his hand wrapped around her throat. She was choking, but she was too terrified to sputter.
"Who woulda thought, a bitty thing like you?"
His thumb grazed her lower lip, and it took everything in her power not to whimper out of fright.
"Though, I can see how you could start a mess like this, looks like yours. Modern day Helen o' Troy. Or, what did they call you?" He trailed off in thought. "The 'angel of Green Lake'?"
She gazed about in desperation, but found no passersby. She was alone (again) in a darkened alley with two would-be lawmen. Abe turned his back to them and kept watch over the distant broad way.
"So what do you say?"
'Kiss me.'
Her blue eyes went wide, heartbeat raging in her chest as he pressed his body closer.
'I'll just run him out of town.'
click.
There was a quiet moment of surprise for Marshall, who dropped his attention to the petite hand holding cold iron to his gut.
BANG.
Katherine jumped, smoke curling off the barrel of her gun as his body fell backwards into the dirt. The light was gone from his eyes even before the dust clouds had time to settle.
".....Why you little—"
Abe scrabbled for his gun, but it was secure in his holster. He hadn't thumbed off the "safety" yet—that small loop of leather that fitted over the hammer—and that, of course, bought Katherine a few extra seconds to gather her wits about her.
She didn't blink.
Leveling her arm at his head, she cocked her gun in one fluid motion and
BANG.
The impact split his forehead clean open, and blood erupted from the gaping hole left in his skull. He crumpled to the earth beside his partner.
Everything seemed quiet.
Katherine was breathing heavily, arm still rigidly pointed out where Abe's head had been. But her eyes were on the bloody corpses at her feet.
She heard a scream, and when she looked up she could see people beginning to gather on the street at the alleyway entrance. The gunfire had drawn a gentleman, and then another, and eventually a woman who had been so aghast at the sight that she screamed and screamed.
More faces appeared.
Katherine's attention fell to her handiwork again, and she watched as the blood began to run together and pool in the dirt. Her hand was shaking by the time she finally lowered her arm.
'Do you still want that kiss?'
There was a heaviness, a sickness, a weight on her heart. She had run, she had left everything behind, and now, after everything
'You can't get out of the whirlwind.'
She wasn't getting out.
(That woman was still screaming.)
- God will punish you!
And then
it all
clicked.
(Like the sound of a hammer cocking in her brain, bouncing off her skull, she snapped.)
She set her jaw.
She squared her shoulders.
And when her eyes went back to the crowd (that woman, still screaming bloody murder you're a murderer) there was a deep and abiding coldness in her gaze. Like a snake, like a serpent, cold and cruel.
In one fell motion she extended her arm again, gun cocked and trained on the throng.
"Someone shut that woman up!" she seethed, marching five angry paces towards the growing number of onlookers. "Or I swear t'God, I'll shut her up myself!"
Someone reached for the woman, hands moving to cover her mouth. The whole mob murmured and gasped, falling silent with fear.
Kate turned her head over her shoulder and looked again on her victims, and it was almost natural, almost automatic, to move for Marshall's body.
(His cowboy hat had tumbled from his head when he hit the dirt, and was now at rest a few feet away, upturned and sprinkled with blood.)
She left a kiss on his pallid forehead.
(And another on the back of Abe's hand.)
It would only be a matter of time now before local law caught up with her, so she would have to move quickly. After all, she had no intentions of getting caught.
Ever again.
"Move aside!"
She strode headfirst into the crowd, gun still at the ready. The assembly parted for her, and as she moved through (marveling at how easy it was to do so), her eyes fell upon a familiar splash of copper, and a set of hazel eyes.
She jerked to a stop, heart turning flips in her stomach.
Karl simply gazed at her—without fear, or disgust, or horror; but with sadness, and regret. He bowed his head, eyes falling to her feet.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her own eyes hitting the ground.
And then she came up alongside him, and paused.
"I'm so sorry, Karl."
He didn't answer, but then she didn't wait around for him to anyway.
.