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The following story is the result of an idea Griffin Ware had for advent of 2017.  He decided he would write a chapter a day for the 24 days of Advent and send it to his friends.  At the end of each chapter he would give his audience options and the one that got the most votes is what he would use to continue his story.  Enjoy!

A Star From The Sky

A 2017 Griffmas  Production

by Griffin Ware

Day 1: Thompson & The Gorilla-Man

 

I’ve always liked sunsets. The grand impermanence of them, telling me to live each day like it’s my last. That’s an important message out here. Out here, where your life can be stolen from you as readily as your horse or your wallet. The lawless west. This is a place where a man sacrifices a lot for their freedom. Moreover, the sunset tells me the time I can enjoy my favorite time of day. Going down to the local saloon, to smother my sorrow with a rag soaked with cheap, watered-down liquor. 

 

Today hasn’t been kind to me. I’d rather not talk specifics, but let’s just say there’s a reason I’m already behind those slatted doors as the sun begins to graze the horizon. Surrounded by men of equal caliber, I can’t stand to look at anything except my mug, the brown liquid it contains reflecting vehemently the amber light that slips in through the grime-covered windows. I hear muttered chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the 

dull, constant, groaning sound of sand blowing across the plains. It’s perfect. I can’t stand it. 

 

“Ey! Clarence!? Clarence Thompson?”

 

I look up, dazed, at the man standing across the table from me. The floor groans beneath the weight of his frame as he shuffles back and forth, energized. His face is coated half by a thick layer of dirt, and half by a matted, black beard, that jumps from his cheeks as if distraught to be attached to him. He is a broad-shouldered man, and over 6 foot by a good few inches. And here he was hulking over me, with a grisly scowl. So I did the thing that any man would do. Fell back on their instincts.

 

“Who’s asking?”  The answer that basically equates to “Yes, but rudely.” I’m great at this.

 

“William Scott, that’s who! I had to track you down for a hundred miles! What’re you doin’ takin’ people's horses in the dead’a night ‘nd thinkin’ yer n’t g’nna g’t yr’ ass whupped!”

 

Though his speech did deteriorate to a near unintelligible mess towards the end of his accusation, I still managed to piece together what had happened, and the picture wasn’t pretty. John was back. And up to his old tricks.

 

“Look, bud. I’m sorry you got your horses taken, I’m sure you and them’ve spent many lonely nights together, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”  I look at his face for the first time he came over. I decide to stop being a smartass.

 

“Y’see, I got a brother. John. Jonathan Thompson. Back in 

the day we used to commit crimes, do it in the other’s name. See who we’d get in 

the most trouble. And seein’ as how I don’t remember stealin’ no horses, I 

figure that John’s up to it again.”

 

Ugh. Jonathan Thompson. There’s a name I hadn’t heard in years, much less spoken. When was the last time I’d heard his name? 1873? Near... 6 years ago. At least, I thought. It’s hard to keep track of the seasons around here. All I know is that lately the nights have been getting chillier. 

 

The man slams his fist on the well-worn table, snapping me out of my contemplative trance.

 

“You expect me to believe sum hogwash ‘bout sum brudder 

a’ yers? ‘Nd even ‘f it is true, th’n you’ve still got the same blood ‘n yer 

veins. ‘Nd that bloods gonna pay.” 

 

“Look, I’m awful sorry but I ‘aint givin you no mone-”

 

“I DIDN’T COM’ FER YER WALLET!” he roars, ferociously.

 

I tip over backwards as the table in front of me is thrown to the side. I see and hear many people stop their chatter to turn and look. A clash between two strong-armed men. And they didn’t even have to pay. I clamber to my feet, before getting my collar yanked and my cheek smashed. I instantly taste iron. One man in the back screams out “Yeah! 

Fight!”

 

I growl and try to break away. A fight they want then a fight they’ll get. Against someone twice my size and thrice my strength, despite me being a hefty man myself. I manage to break his grasp with a swift kick to the knee, and start to get my senses back. The crowd wanted blood, and they would’ve gotten it too, but luckily I’ve got a friend or two around these parts who I’ve helped out before. 

 

BANG!

 

The crowd, myself and the man-ape included, turn to the bar to see the twin barrels of a sawn-off, finger on the trigger, flicking between his and my heads. 

 

“You boys want to take this outside, or settle it now, because there are two shells in this thing and only one’a them’s a blank.”

 

I look back at my quarry. Dead in the eyes. When I know I’ve got his attention I smile warmly and say “Mate, I’m sorry about your horses,” before turning away and sauntering over to the bar. I don’t bother to look back.I slide cooly into one of the barstools, before saying, “Ey. Gorilla guy over there spilt my drink. Get me another Richie? I’ll even pay.” 

 

He smiles, grabbing at a glass, musing “How do you get into these sorts of situations Thompson? And always at my bar!”

 

“Ey! It’s not always at your bar. Can’t forget this beauty!” I say, pulling up my sleeve to reveal the half-foot long gash left in my forearm from... that... nevermind.

 

“How could I hope to? Still remember you stumbling in, dead of night. Then you just smile at me and collapse with that trail’a red behind you? Not exactly the kind’a thing someone forgets!”

 

“So, how much’d that shotgun cost you exactly?”

 

“Hundred and fifty. She’s a real beaut, isn’t she?”

 

“Well, as long as I’m around I’m sure she’ll be in good use.”

 

“You got that one right.”  I stay at the bar for a while as the world grows dark. People filter in and out of the bar, but now it’s definitely more of the latter than the former. I turn and survey the crowd. Gorilla man’s still there. Hasn’t ordered a thing. Just... staying there. Richard’s looking at him too. Almost sympathetically. Can’t help but have a nagging feeling in the back of my head agree with him.I should do something.

 

    1    Offer to share a smoke with him

    2    Do nothing

    3     Tell him off

Day 2: This Month’s  Job

 

Results: A-7, B-1, C-1

 

Conclusion: Offer to share a smoke with him

 

I walk over. Cautiously at first, but quickly gaining confidence. When he sees me approaching him through his day-dreaming trance, he looks startled. His head perks up, his beard shedding dirt that catches in the moonlight as it saunters to the ground. The moon’s nearly full today. He makes the first move.

 

“Whaddya want? Your friend with the shotgun over there want me to leave? You know as well as I do that as soon as you’n I are outside these walls-”

 

“No, he dosen’t. And I didn’t come to have no fight either.”

 

“...what, then.”

 

“Felt bad about your horses. Felt bad about you. It’s a 

hard world out here, and you seem to know it as well as I do. Hardly ever get 

paid back for what life throws at us, even just a little.”  My hand moves to my side, and I dig into my satchel. “Got money, a few little knick knacks, a treat or two for my mare, and way down in the bottom...Unio Cigar. Things aren’t cheap, seven fifty for a box 

of ten. Keep a few on me, ‘case I need something for celebrating. Or mourning. 

So here’s one to honor your horses,” I say, sliding one across the table to him, 

“and here’s one to mourn my dignity, doin’ this for a fella’ tried to beat me 

just a few hours back.” I say, taking another out. 

 

He looks at me, quizzically. He keeps his questioning 

eyes locked on me as he pulls a lighter from his pocket and sets the thing up. 

After he takes his first puff, he finally loosens up, and his eyes flick away from me. His mouth opens, and he stays slack-jawed for a moment before speaking.

 

“So, tell me more about this kid, Jonathan. You think you could find him?”

 

“Don’t know. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him. Wouldn’t expect him to pull something like this again, all this time later.”

 

“I need to get those horses back. I’m willing to pay. A lot.”

 

“You really like those horses, don’t you?”

 

“They were my everything. Not just income but... companionship. Since the wife... since she passed.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry can’t change it. If being sad could conquer death there’d be no need for tombstone carvers.”

 

“Tell me about your horses. Tell me while I think.”

 

“...Well, there’s Madeline. She’s a shire. Real beauty, best of the whole herd. Got a few appaloosas too, four of them. Real popular around the parts where I’m from. And two old quarter horses. Few others. Got about 10, but those’re the ones that’ve stayed with us a while.”

 

“That many, huh? Not used to him stealing so many... especially without help. Tell you what. I’ll go back to your estate, see if I can’t glean up anything to track them with.”

 

“How much should I have to pay you?”

 

“Depends on the job. But I’d never begin to bankrupt someone.”

 

And so, he reached out his hand. And that was going to be how I was getting food that 

month. I left to my home to prepare, after we had cut out the details. His ranch was  just a day’s ride out, and he’d borrowed a horse from a sympathetic neighbour to get here so we didn’t have to worry about transportation. I had no clue if I was going to find anything noteworthy out there whatsoever, but judging from his description of the ransacked and vandalized stable, it was definitely worth a shot. 

 

I said I left for my “home,” but I don't really have a home, so to speak. A combination of an apathetic sheriff and a lazy, slow town means that the jailhouse doesn't get much use, and the aforementioned sheriff didn’t see anything wrong with giving away... storage/living spaces... for a little bit of rent. It’s a bargain, compared to anything else in this town, and seeing as how I’m not home 90% of the time, why should I care what it’s like? In any case, as I make purposeful strides into the jailhouse, I dig around for my 

key, eventually finding it crammed into a fold in my pocket at an awkward angle. By the time I claw it out, I’m already at the door. A twist, and I move to collect my things. 

 

My weapon of choice:

1A) My twin Colt-45s  1B) My 1876 Winchester Lever-Repeater  1C) My single-shot heavy cal Lindsay

 

Some extra provisions:

2A) Extra Ammunition  2B) A few glass-fire grenades  2C) A first-aid kit

A compass, a map of the desert, enough food and water for a few days. Didn’t think I was forgetting anything. I move to leave, locking up my cell and heading out towards the stables to get my mare:

 

3A) Alexandria  3B) Alydar  3C) Tuscalee

 

But as I begin to open the door I’m thrown back by a mighty crash of thunder. Still echoing through my ears, it sounded like a lightning strike had landed just a few yards away from me. On this clear night? And then, an eerie green light sneaks through the crack left in the slightly ajar door. I clamber up and race to see what’s happening.

I fling open the door to be blinded by a shining white-lime green light that’s... moving. It races, as if by horseback, away from me. Up the road north. I see dozens of faces popping out of houses up and down the street. But there was one man standing in the middle of the road. The one man who everyone’s eyes laid on. William Scott. The gorilla-man. He simply shakes his head, speaking with bewilderment barely loud enough for one to hear over the stunned silence,  “Like a star from the sky, fell from the heavens. Hit the ground hard and just kept running. Whatever it is it’s on a mission.”

 

Then, from across the street I hear Richie call out,“I swear on the name of the lord Jesus Christ, I never  thought I’d see the day the sky itself went mad before I did.”

Day 3: Lonely Roads and Black Coffee

 

Results:

1- A-5  B-2  C-0 Conclusion: Twin Colt 45s  2- A-2   B-0  C-5 Conclusion: First Aid Kit 

3- A-5  B-1  C-1 Conclusion: Alexandria

 

Its been a long day’s ride, but Alexandria always seems to thrive in these tests of stamina. More than once I turned back to see I’d left William a half dozen miles in the dust. If that man thought you were helping him, he wouldn’t complain about a thing. A rocky start, but I think he’s starting to grow on me. We set out at dawn,  by about midday we’d seen barely a person on the whole road. Times used to be that this was a major trade route. I remember this road used to be coated with caravans when I was a 

kid. But, they built the railroad and things started to dry up. I know the railroad’s great and all, marvel of modern engineering, but it sure was good at making these long roads lonely.

 

He and I would settle down every few hours. Quarter of nine, noontime, three o’clock. Every time we did we’d find something new to talk about. Talked on the trail, too. Those brief times we were together. I learned a lot more about him. William Oswald Scott was born a businessman's son, out in Richmond Virginia. He’d lived life wonderfully back then, with all the amenities that came with living in a family whose net worth was in six 

figures. Like any sane man, he’d appreciated the luxury, but he’d always felt out of place for city life. He found a wife who felt the same way, and when his father died they talked each other into using the inheritance to move out into the west and start a ranch. He was over 56 now, lived enough years that even I felt him my senior, even though he was only about a decade older. They’d tried to have kids, but hadn’t any success, so his horses were all he had left. A simple man with a simple tale. I could only imagine how many of those people Jonathan and I had left bankrupt in a ditch in our heyday.... 

 

By the time the sun began to graze the horizon, the small settlement where William lived from began to take shape ahead of us. It was a nice, quaint place, with about a dozen standing structures. I glanced over my shoulder to talk to Will about its arrival, but I found I’d left him behind again. I slowed Alex down to a trot, and reflected on what had happened the night before. 

 

The green light.It wasn’t like one could stop their life when confronted with such events. The town acted as normal the day after, but there wasn’t a person in town not talking about it. A message from god. An ill omen for the harvest. Paranoia was rampant. I thought it was probably some freakish weather phenomena, but something deep in the back of my mind kept telling me I was wrong. I always tended to get into trouble when I didn’t listen to that little voice. If it was following the road out of town then... this was the only way it could’ve gone.  

 

As I got into the town, I heard an old, womanly voice call out; “Harold, we’ve got visitors!”

 

“At this time of day?” a rough, sharp voice cuts back.

 

I finally find the source of the conversation. An elderly woman in a long, black dress and overly large bonnet stands on the porch of the home nearest to me. I pull Alexandria to a stop just outside, and the old woman starts to approach me. “Why hello there! I’m Judy.” She grabs my hand, shaking it in a gentle, calloused grasp. “To who do I owe the 

pleasure?”

 

“Name’s Clarence Thompson.”

 

With that her shake slows, then stops. She pulls her hand away from me, not rudely but certainly lacking the pleasantness she approached me with. I quickly try to save the conversation. “I came ‘ere to clean my name in the whole affair. William confronted me about his robbery yesterday. He’s been riding out with me, but I’m afraid he’s been left a bit behind.”

 

At this point in our chat a large, burly man strutted out the door of the house. A cane in one hand, in the other a lighter, which he quickly pockets, before reaching up and grabbing a lit cigar from his mouth. He looks me up and down before talking. 

 

“William Scott’s more than a respected member of this town. He’s damn well the reason it’s here to begin with. His tragedy is all of our tragedy. Now, if he found you and didn’t kill you, then I’m not gonna kill you neither, but let it be known that should it be that you’re lyin’ to us to get outta trouble, it’ll be yer head.”

 

There’s a silence that hangs in the air just a moment, before Judy perks up again.

“Oh, Harold, there’s no need to be so dramatic. I told William in the first place, “Who writes their own name at the scene of a crime, especially some old retired cowboy who probably just wants to be left alone. Well Clarence, you’re welcome in our town, long as you keep your wits about you. Now, I’m sure William wouldn’t want you digging around his stable before he got here, but is there anything I can get you in the meantime? A drink of water?”

 

“I’m afraid I packed well for the trip, thank you.”

 

“Actually, Harold’s going to have a long night, so I just put on a pot of coffee! There’s more than enough for the two of us.”

 

“If it wouldn’t be any hassle, that actually sounds perfect right about now.”

 

“Of course! How do you take it?”

 

“Black.”  It’s not the best tasting, but you make it for yourself on the trail enough, and eventually you’re just happy when it doesn't have the grounds swimming in it. Judy gives me a shy smile, before walking inside. She looks back over her shoulder and reaches out towards a small, run-down bench on the patio. After she steps inside, Harold shoots me a look so harsh that for a second I think he’s trying to push me off Alexandria with the power of his mind. But, without so much as a growl, he spins on his heels and walks with purpose inside.

 

It’s twilight by the time that William sauntered into town. My coffee’s lukewarm, and there’s only a few sips of it left. His horse looks terribly distraught. He dismounts, and grabs her lead. “Alexandria’s got some fine legs on ‘er, y’know? Reminds me of my own Madeline. Now, let’s go.”

 

I leave the mug on the bench, along with a half dollar. It felt wrong to take some coffee and disappear without leaving at least a little bit of something to remember me by. The stable rested right in the middle of the village, and was obviously the best built structure of the lot, standing two stories tall with a small, third story alcove. You couldn’t really tell that anything was wrong from the outside, but as we got closer I could just smell 

trouble. We opened the door, with a loud creak. The inside was a pungent mix of half-eaten hay, horse, and a smell of ash. A number of small fires had been started, presumably to spook the horses. Some of the stalls were broken, with shards of wood scattered throughout. And along the back wall, written in giant letters with smudged soot, were the words “Clarence Thompson - Jamesville, 65 miles south.” That was a little blunt, even for John. It worked though, I’ll give him that.

 

Then, while I was just finishing up with my first-glance inspection, I heard William give a sharp “Shh!”Then I heard it. There was something moving above us. We weren’t alone.

    1. Leave and Siege the Place    2. Approach Aggressively  3.  Approach Tepidly

Day 4: Green Pants

 

Results:

A-1  B-1  C-5   Conclusion: Approach Tepidly

 

 

I hate this part. The part where you have to convince yourself “I’m not going to die,” over and over again, and it never seems to work. The shootouts are much easier, when you can stop worrying about death and just let it happen. After your fourth or fifth time in combat, you can just stop thinking about it and do it. More than once I’ve had to pick a 

bullet out of an arm or leg that I couldn’t even remember getting in there. But no, this was the worst part. The part before anything could go wrong. The part when you didn’t know your odds of getting out of something alive. The part where you didn’t know if you were going to need to even draw your gun. 

 

I pulled myself up onto the second floor. The light was much more dim here, and the scent of soot seemed to have fallen to the ground. Up here it smelt much more of hay, and old wood. There was horse feed and saddles and all sorts of gear up here. A storage space. My mind wandered back to Jonathan. If his goal was to sell those horses, why leave all these valuables behind? From what William had told me, he had as much time as he wanted. 

 

*creak*

I heard the small sound echo around me, the tension in the air mounted as my head pivoted to and fro, the sound bouncing from every direction. Then I found it. A small plume of dust gently gliding down from above. Whatever had been moving had used the ladder up to the third story alcove. So it was either a very smart animal, or, more probably, a man. Who would be here, I had no idea. But the other’s 

presence was evident to both of us. I steeled my complexion, and scurried over 

to the ladder, grabbing one of its lower rungs with my left hand, while caressing one of my pistol’s grips with my right. And then, deciding that I was tired of playing hide-and-seek, I made the first move.

 

“Hello?”

 

The word escaped my mouth. Firmly, but with a small waver. I heard William shuffle nervously below me. The word hung in the air, echoing through my mind, through William’s. A second passed. Then two. Then five. I was trying to think of what I was going to do next. Just as I began to settle on my next move, the silence was finally broken, by a voice falling down from above.

 

“You should leave.”

 

That one sentence had implications dripping from its every facet. First was that it could be taken both as friendly advice, or as a threat. But perhaps most importantly was the way it was delivered. Not from the grisly voice of some old thief, or the wry tongue of some swindler. No, that was quite clearly the voice of a young woman.  And that changed the game completely.    That reply hung in the air equally as long as the 

greeting. As I contemplated it, I had at least one important question answered: Whether William heard that.

 

“Lass! ‘Hoo d’ya think y’are, bargin’ into my stable uninvited, and then tellin’ me to leave!”

 

With that, William begins moving towards the ladder to the second floor, from his post we had settled on in the plan. Leaving no more room for subtlety, he becomes the master of this situation like the flick of a switch. With each rung he grabs, he smacks it with his palm before wrapping his hand around the vibrating plank. With each movement he makes, dust and debris flies from the ladder, and all the surrounding woodwork. This is William Oswald Scott when he’s angry, and I’m damn pleased I’m on his side of affairs this time. 

 

He strides up to the ladder, and shouts right up the hole. n“You better get your sorry ass down here ‘nd give me a damn good explanation a’ what some harlot is doin’ campin’ out ‘n my property wit’out my permission!”

 

This time, the womanly voice answers much quicker. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

 

Again, we pause.The mystery goes deeper. With a longer sentence comes more time to hear her voice, and it became immediately evident that her accent was not from around here. It hardly even sounded American. 

 

William seems... dissatisfied. He calls up again, slapping the ladder with an open palm. 

“Fine! Ya can’t come down? Then I’ll come up there ‘nd haul th’ bitch down ‘nd out!”

 

He gives about three seconds, before grabbing onto the railing. 

 

Again, the woman calls out. “No! You... you don’t understand!” 

 

“Yer damn right I don’t understand, ‘nd I don’t intend to either!”

 

He grabs another rung.

 

“Please!”

 

“Shut ‘yer trap! Suck it up ‘nd get down here, or I’m gonna come up there ‘nd do it for ya’. Last warning!”

 

He again gives three seconds, before clambering up the ladder. He makes it almost all the way to the top before a small cry, filled with resignation, creeps downward upon us.

 

“Fine! I’ll... I’ll come down. You don’t seem to want to give me a choice.”

 

William jumps down from the ladder, and with more than a smattering of contempt in his voice he growls,  “You lost your right to a choice when you decided to crawl around in my stable.”

 

And then, a soft creaking, and from the ceiling descended something so unlike anything I had seen before, that I couldn’t help but drop my mouth agape.This woman appeared indeed to be in her young adulthood, with an age hovering at around twenty, maybe a few years below. But in stature she appears much younger, with a petite frame of about four, to four and a half feet in height, with a slender body. I’d be shocked to hear she weighed more than perhaps 75 or 80 pounds. As she descended, her movement drew attention to her clothing. A shockingly garish green in color, with white fur sprouting from 

the waist and collar. The material appears as though it would be rough to the 

touch, and as though it weighs a fair amount. Her face was sharp. Her nose and 

chin coming to slender points. Long, wavy black hair flows freely down to her 

shoulders, and a bit beyond. But by far the most shocking part was her lack of 

dress and tall, black boots, with a big golden buckle. The bright green from her 

shirt continued to her... pants, and while her shirt was certainly long enough 

to not be revealing, it was still startling to a man with modern sensibilities. 

William’s eyes open a small amount at this, but for the most part his gaze of 

anger stays fixed. 

 

As soon as she’s down, he bellows, “Alright, now GET OUT!”

 

She looks up at him. The size difference between the 6’ 5” behemoth and the 4’ 3” girl becomes immediately noticeable as she does so. 

 

“Please, I just need an hour or two more. Until it’s proper dark. Please, I can not leave now.”

 

“Look, girl, I don’t care who y’are, er why yer dressed like sum sorta fantasyland prostitute. No. I just want you outta my stable and outta my life so my friend and I can deal with more pressing matters.”

 

Her eyes flash onto mine for just a second, as if it’s the first time she fully noticed I was there. I blink. I’m suddenly aware of what a... coward I’m being. I need to do something.

She turns back to William,

 

“Please, I beg you, just an hour!”

 

  1. Take William’s Side  2,  Take the Girl’s Side   3. Do Nothing​

Day 5: Unfolding the First Crease

 

Results:  A-0  B-6  C-3   Conclusion: Take the Girl’s Side

 

 

In a gunfight, you stop thinking about winning or losing and you start thinking about where to place your shots. You depend on instinct, and a healthy mix of bravery and sense. In one situation, running for a safe location could save your life. In another, 

abandoning your previous cover to run unguarded could prove a fatal mistake. 

Throughout my life, I’d been in a number of gunfights, to the extent that the changing between letting logic drive me and letting instinct take the reigns is as easy as a subconscious flick of a switch. And as I saw William yelling at that girl in front of me, that switch got flicked.

 

“She’s not hurting anyone!” I forcibly interject.

 

The arguing stops, and both William and the girl turn to me. I turn to Will first.

 

“William, this girl was on your land, but it’s not like she was doing anything malicious. You told me about all the damage downstairs before, and from what I can tell there’s nothing been made worse. Now, this is your stable and your rules, I’m not going t’argue 

with that, but please, at least hear the girl out. For me. For Madeline.”

 

William looks at me, first with a flash of anger, then with one of confusion. His eyes flick up and down me, his distended beard perfectly framing a constant, discontent scowl.

 

“Aight then.” he says, as if a stern father humoring a son’s ridiculous request. He turns back to the girl and leans back on a hay bale. “Why’re ya’ here.”

 

The girl looks back and forth to me and Will like she was just asked to recite Frankenstein backwards. She didn’t even know where to begin. She drew a long breath 

before speaking, and when she finally did, she decided to speak not to one of us 

in particular, but made a wide-eyed statement to the floor between us. “My name is Lorraine.  And, uh…”  Her eyes flicked up, but quickly again receded, “Well, a... friend of 

mine was passing through here, so I needed to come, because the friend was... 

not... good... and um...”

 

At this point, William looks at me with an expression that reads “I told you so.” But, the girl doesn't seem to be done yet.

 

“I need to find the friend before the 25th, before, uh, Christmas, because, um... well, I do... but I can only travel well at night which makes it kind of frustrating...”

 

At this point William moves over to her an places a hand on her shoulder, almost stretching his arm straight out to do so. He looks her in the eyes, and says, as if talking down to a small child, “I can’t let you stay here for more than a day, but if you want 

to spend one more hour you can. Now get ready to move out, and stay out of our 

way.”  He moves away before she can refute, pushing her forehead back with his 

index finger as he does so.

 

“Alright Clarence, let’s get back to it!” He says, half cheerfully, as if he just won a fight. As he walks back towards the ladder, he doesn't stop to look at me or back at 

Lorraine, but she and I lock eyes again. I quickly turn to William.

 

“You go on down, Will. I think I’m going to stay and look around up here.”

 

“Suit yourself!” he replies, stepping down onto the top rung. “You’re the investigator here, after all!”

 

As Will descends out of sight, I turn back to Lorraine. I move up to her and get 

down on one knee. Even at this height, I’m still an inch or two taller than her. I speak gently, saying. “Hello. My name’s Clarence Thompson. You said you were Lorraine. You got a second part to add to that somewhere?”

 

She looks at me. At me, not past me, but still with that frightened, wide-eyed expression. Slowly, her mouth opens.  “Lorraine... um... Lorraine... uh... Lorraine Eaton.”

 

I smile, as warmly as I can.“That’s a nice name, Lorraine. Now, I want you to calm down. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to take your time with them. Does that sound nice?”

 

She nods, slowly.

 

“So, Lorraine, tell me about your friend.”

 

“Well, she... she came... out west on a job... r-right? And she... um... was told she’d need to... uh... buy some horses. And she forgot to bring the... the contract for the man to buy the horses from. So she was stuck.”

 

A spark of realization goes off in my head, and I interject, “And she ended up going 

to John for help...”

 

Lorraine’s eyes open a bit that this.

 

“John? John who?”

 

“John Thompson.”

 

She shook her head. 

 

“So... you know about John already. She mentioned him in the letters she sent to 

me.... So, she met John, and they... they got horses. But as soon as she found 

out how he was doing it, she sent a letter asking me to come help her myself, 

because she didn’t like John anymore...”

 

“You seem awfully well informed about this.” I remark.  She doesn't take that well, somehow seeming even smaller as she looked at me. I quickly backtrack.

 

“No, no. Stop acting like I’m the bad guy here. I’m just saying that it’s helpful. Please, you can tell me anything.”  For the first time, I see her smile a bit. She looks up at me again.

 

“Alright, what do you want to ask me.”

 

Just then, we’re interrupted by a voice from down below.

 

“Clarence? I need your help with something down here!”

 

“Alright, I just need 5 minutes!”

 

“Okay, but try not to be too long! This is kind of... time-reliant!”

 

“Alright!”

I should have time to ask one more question.

 

 

1. Ask why she needs to find her friend by Christmas

2. Ask about the job that her friend took, and where they’re from

3. Ask why she can only travel at night

Day 6: The Writing on the Wall

 

Results:  A-1  B-2  C-4    Conclusion: Ask why she can only travel at night

 

“So, Lorraine, before I go. Tell me something.”  She looked up at me, her eyes generally quieting, becoming less fearful.  “You mentioned several times that you can only travel at night. Why is that?”

 

Her smile fades a little. “My... horse. My horse doesn't like the sun.”

 

“Y’ave your own horse?” I question, slightly taken aback.

 

“Of course! How else would someone get all the way out here alone?”

 

“By walkin’.”

 

“Out here? Why I’m a little young lady, all alone. I don’t even have a gun. I’d be robbed or worse by the end of first day.”

 

“I s’pose...”

 

We look at each other a moment more, but her eyes flick away from me before too long. I’d have to be an idiot not to guess that she was lying to me on some level, or at least withholding some part of her story. I decided that at this point William’s request was more prevalent, and started to move to stand up. But, when I moved my head away, she grabbed my hand.

 

“Okay, look.” she said, matter-of-factly. I was surprised by the sudden tonal shift, but I was smiling, knowing that something interesting was coming. I look down at her slowly, keeping the same warm smile I’d kept during our conversation. She continues.  “I think you’re a good guy, and if you’re trying to go after John and my friend, then... well, you could be as good help to me as I could be to you. I’m sorry that I can’t be entirely truthful with you, I could be... fired for it... or worse. But, I really do have a friend out there who needs rescuing, and I’d be more than willing to be partners in finding her and 

John.”

 

I’m left a bit dazed from this turnaround. She sounds like a government official. But, before I have time to respond, I hear a voice from down below yet again.

 

“Clarence! Come on!”

 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” I yell down, like a child involved in their own pretend world being asked to come down for supper. Before I go, I look down at Lorraine and give her a small nod of approval. Then, I march to the ladder, and half slide half jump down its 

8 foot length. I turn to ask William what it is, but barely a sound escaped my mouth before I see it.

 

Last night was a full moon, tonight isn’t much different. And, as the moon begins to rise, its shining light is cast onto the town. Seems simple enough. But here, someone has put in the wall a hole, for the light to slip through, right where the moon is. The moonbeams leap through the air and land on the far wall. But still yet there are more layers to this puzzle, as the hole has been etched into small words, words from a language neither I nor William recognize. Their white, ethereal glow tracing letters of strange shapes 

and sizes. Letters which read:

 

“Død Følger oss til byen på saltsjøen”

 

Will turns to me, sharing with me a clueless glance.My eyes trace the letters for a second time, then a third, before I hear a small, breathy, “what?” come from 

above.  Will and I both look, and see Lorraine poking her head through the opening for the ladder, staring intently at the words. Will gets a word out before I can.

 

“Girl, I’m tellin’ you for the last time, stay outta our way. I was gracious enough to let you stay here, now respect me.”

 

I turn to William sharply, saying “Will, look at how she’s lookin’ at those words. She can read ‘em.”  William’s eyes open a small amount, and he looks between Lorraine and the words several times. 

 

“Well lass, spit it out, what does it say?”

 

Her eyes focused intensely on the letters, she speaks quietly. “Death follows us to the city on the salt lake.”

 

“What language is that, even?” Will questions.

 

“...Norwegian.”

 

“Lass, how can y’speak norwegian?”

 

“I...”

 

“And how come they’ve been leavin’ y’ breadcrumbs anyway?” Williams eyes suddenly turn angry. “You... you’ve been working with them, ‘avnent ya! Why else would they be helpin’ ya follow ‘em around? Ya’ sly bitch! Get out! Get out now!” With that he backs up a pace or two and points at the door.  “Y’got no right bein’ in mah property, ‘nd 

now y’er colludin’ with th’ horse stealin’ bastards! Why I’d throttle y’ where 

y’stand if y’weren’t a lady! But no, I’ll let you go right now, without a bruise 

on yer body, if I NEVER HAVE TO SEE YOU AGAIN. Now GET OUT!”

 

This is a different kind of anger from Will. I’d seen him be angry at me, I’d seen him angry at the girl before, but this wasn’t anger told with a scowl, this was anger told with the whole body. His arms ripple and convulse as he rapidly clenches and unclenches his fists.  With each breath his body raises and lowers dramatically. 

 

Lorraine panics, quickly scampering down the ladder she was hiding at the top of, and bolting towards the door. Right before she reaches the handle, she looks me dead in the eyes, and motions with her hand for me to come with her. I look at her confused for just a moment, before William makes a move towards her, and she scamperes out the doorway into the emerging night. 

 

Suddenly, it hit me what she wanted. She asked me to be her partner. She’s asking me to come with her, with or without William. She seems to know much more about what’s 

going on than we do, but she already gave us the translation, and I know that 

she was being dishonest before. 

 

1.  Stay Until Morning and Ride with William

2.  Leave now and Ride with Lorraine

3.  Leave later and Ride on your own.

Day 7: Pocketwatch

 

Results:A-2  B-3  C-3   Conclusion: Talk to Lorraine and Decide what to do

 

 

As Lorraine runs for the door, I freeze for a few seconds, before turning to William and announcing my intentions.

 

“William, I’m going to go after her.”

 

“What!? Are you mad? The conniving harlot?  What ungodly force would compel you to have the faintest desire to even be around her?”

 

“Well, this stable will stay the way it is now, but right now there’s a living, breathing person running away from here with information about what’s going on, and I’m going t’ talk t’ her!”

 

William stares at me intensely for a moment or two, before receding back and sighing.

 

“Alright Thompson. I can’t control ‘ya. If ‘ya think’ll be for th’ best then I’ll letcha go. But I can’t go with ‘ya. I see that woman again and I’ll choke the life outta ‘er, I know it.”

 

I look at him for a long time. Maybe 5 seconds, may be more. Then I give him a weak smile and a nod, and I head for the door. As my hand wraps around the handle, I hear Will speak up, one last time.

 

“Clarence, just bring me the horses ‘nd you’ll get your money.”

 

And with that, I vanish into the night.

 

It’s always incredible how 60 miles can change the complexion of a place. The very hills feel different. It sounds like another voice is blowing the sands at night. Back in my cowboy days, I tried to not get attached to a home for that very reason. Whenever you’re away from home, it’s harder to feel safe....I hear a soft whistle. I look around the side of the stable, where I heard it from, and I see Lorraine. She’s standing half in and half out of shadow, like she’s afraid to be seen. I mean, why wouldn’t she be. She looks ridiculous. I approach, and get down on one knee in front of her like I did when I was talking to her upstairs. I start the conversation.

 

“So, about that message, about knowing Norwegian,”

 

“The City on the Salt Lake, that’s where they are. Though... excuse my geography, I should really know this... where is it exactly...?”

 

“The City on the Salt Lake? You mean... Salt Lake City? Utah? That’s over a week’s ride north of here.”

 

“Why on earth would they need to go so far...” She ponders to herself.

 

The conversation lapses for just a moment, but I pick it up soon enough.

 

“So, your horse, where is it?”

 

“I... listen, could we both ride your horse? Mine will... follow us, at a safe distance.” 

 

While saying this, she nervously grasps at her upper right pant leg. 

 

“Could you at least say “I can’t tell you,” instead of lying to me all the time?”

 

She looks up at me, and mutters under her breath, “Sorry, reflex...”

 

Yet again, there’s a moment of silence between us. I take the moment to consider. It’s obvious to me that Lorraine knows a lot about his. A lot more than she’s telling me. And, seeing as how quickly she was open to admitting she was lying, I do have reason to believe that, should we ride together, she’d become more open day by day. I resolve my 

conflicted mind right then and there.

 

“Okay Lorraine, we can go.”

 

She looks up at me and smiles again. I haul myself from my knee and say “Look out front, you’ll find two horses. The grey one is mine. Name’s Alexandria. You should go meet her, but I’ve got one last stop to make before we head out.”

 

She makes a small nod and runs off. She’s got a very girlish run. It looks strange coming from a figure in man’s clothes. I make my way back to the stable. I poke my head in.

 

“William?”

 

“Yes, Clarence?”

 

“I’m going to ride with the girl. She’s a walking encyclopedia about what’s going on here, I’ve just got to get her to talk about it.”

 

“I can’t come with you.”

 

“I understand. Just know that we’re going to Salt Lake City. I’ll get your horses back, William. You can count on it.”

 

“Thank’ya Clarence. Now, don’t ’ya think about comin’ back t’ this town without ‘em.”

 

And I meet up with Lorraine, and we’re on our way.

 

It’s odd, having a second person on the horse. She’s certainly small enough to fit on the saddle with me, and Alexandria hardly seems to notice Lorraine’s there, but... I just can’t get over it. Feeling her on my back, bumping up and down with me in rhythm with Alexandria’s hoofbeats. It’s distracting.

 

We talk here or there about ourselves. Lorraine’s as secretive as always though, so the conversation continues to stall. Eventually we got off the topic of our past, and started to talk about our philosophies and such. The pace of the conversation was equally lethargic as it was before. After another minute or two lapse on speak, Lorraine comes out with a question I wasn’t really expecting.

 

“What do you want, Clarence?”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Everyone has something they want. Anything in the world, any material object, what would you want?”

 

This brings me pause. It’s something that I hardly ever think about. I look up at the moon, then down at my right arm. The one with the gash in it. And I know what to say.

 

“A good watch. A really exquisitely crafted pocketwatch, that’s what I would want.”

 

“Really? That’s an interesting answer. Usually people say “A good house,” or “A great horse,” or something.”

 

“Well, I’ve got no use for a good house, and I’ve already got the greatest horse in the whole Arizona territory,” I say, giving a gentle slap to Alexandria’s right shoulder.

“No, I’ve got use for a real good pocketwatch...” I muse, only half paying attention to what I’m saying. But then, a small, questioning part of my mind starts 

ringing. The conversation was going fine, but... something was off. I couldn’t 

quite put my finger on it. Then, I feel Lorraine shift behind me. She utters two, 

small words.

 

“Oh no.”

 

I turn to ask her what’s wrong, then I finally see it. Four horseman, behind us, gaining fast. At any other time, in any other scenario, I’d expect them to just be passers by. But they’re galloping towards us. As they get closer, I start to hear them shouting over 

their horses’ running.

 

“Frank, what’s this fella’ doing wit’ ‘er!”

 

That was unmistakably a Boston accent. I’d been up there just once my whole life, but I could tell you as easy as day that that man was from Boston.

 

“Whatevah, we’ll just get ‘im, too!”

 

What were people from Boston doing here! Lorraine grabs my sides, tightly, before 

screaming,  “Go! Go!”

 

1.  Try to ride faster and smarter than them

2.  Try to stay calm and defuse the situation

3.  Draw your revolvers and stand your ground

​

​

Day 8: Running on Water

 

Results:  A-5  B-1  C-2   Conclusion: Try to ride faster and smarter than them

 

 

I’d be the first to admit Alexandria is past her prime, but she certainly wasn’t  old. I’d eyed her back in 1869. Did a whole heist, just to get the money to pay for her. She was just 2 when I got her, but she’s been with me a long time. She’s 12 now. Not a prime age for speed, but not ancient, either. This was going to be my first time pushing her to the limit in years.  I whipped on the reigns, pulling her into a full gallop. Heavy breaths echoed from her throat. The Bostoners continued to gain on us as she came up to speed, but once Alex’s pace evened out, they began fading into the night. The hoofbeats sound loudly off the sand.  Alexandria can’t keep this up for long. Perhaps two or 

three minutes, at most. I need to find a way out, before their younger racehorses burn out Alex’s stamina. While keeping her on the path, my head flicks left and right. Finally, with Alex beginning to fade, I see my exit. Two hills and a shallow river. Lots of flora, more than enough to give me cover.

 

I pull Alex to the right, off the path. She tramples bushes as we cut across the countryside. I hear the hoofbeats behind me gaining. My senses tell me they’re somewhere between 300 and 350 feet back, but to be honest I’m as rusty as Alexandria is. 

As we barrel through the sand and foliage, we inevitably careen into the ankle-deep water of the babbling brook, Alex bravely plowing onwards into the cold stream. From behind, I hear our pursuers grind to a halt on the edge of the stream. Their horses afraid of getting wet? This is getting easier and easier! Suddenly, Lorraine shouted out from behind me,

 

“They’re getting out guns!”

 

BANG!

 

Alexandria gets a second wind, spooked by the gunshot. It whizzes past and strikes the ground, about a hundred feet in front and a bit to the right. My head perks up. I notice

where a bullet landed in the dead of night while surrounded by splashing water and 

adrenaline. Maybe I’m not as rusty as I thought. 

 

Alexandria’s jolt also puts some life in Lorraine, too. She gives a small yelp and holds on to me tightly as Alex begins to rapidly accelerate.  We’re nearly 600 feet down river when I see a crack in the hills to the left. I decide that that’ll be our exit point. With it still 

about 100 feet up, I start to pull Alexandria left very gently. Five seconds to safety. Four. Three.

 

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG BANG!

 

They all fired at once? Man, they must be bad shots if they missed th-

 

“AAAAAAH!”

 

An ear piercing-cry rings from behind me, just as we’re rounding the corner. I feel Lorraine shift dramatically behind me, and turn around to see her tumbling off Alexandria. 

I reach out my hand, watching it slip uselessly on her coarse pant leg. And then, she strikes the ground. Tumbling nearly 20 feet before she comes to a stop, I’m 

surprised she’s still conscious. She’s grabbing at her leg. I hear her scream to me, 

“Help!”

 

Then, from far in the background, a ferocious Boston voice shouts,“Cam’ on! Go! Go!”

 

1.  Escape with your life, 

2.  Abandon her to the Bostoners

3.Try to help her back on Alexandria before they get here

4.  Draw your revolvers and stand your ground

 

 

 

Day 9: The Danger of Thought

 

Results:   A-0  B-1  C-6    Conclusion: Draw your revolvers and stand your ground

 

 

It’s never an easy thing to do. Pull the trigger. Kill a man. That’s why those of us that end up, some way or the other, doing it so very often in our lives, never think about it. At least until after. When the gun is in your hand, and it’s your life against theirs? There’s nothing you can do but give up that morality, and start thinking of yourself. But occasionally, at the best of times, there’s the perfect amount of time to think, but not get anxious. Then you come up with a plan. Then you get dangerous. 

 

The Bostoners run up the river, rifles in hand.“Ey Francis, ‘unce we get Lorraine back t’ base, whaddyre we gonna do wit’ Madeline?”

 

“We talked about this. She betrayed us, Herb. Lorraine was just swept up in the emotion a’ the whole deal. Madeline? She’s dead.”

 

“I just can’t believe it... nuttin’ like this has ‘appened in 200 years.” comes a third voice from the back.

 

Francis speaks up again.  “Look, we’ve been given our orders, now let’s just fulfill them and move on with our lives.”

 

Herb talks next.  “Okay. We’re at the turn they took. Be careful. The fella could be anywhere…”  They stand around the turn, then Francis hold up a fist at 90 degrees, which he counts down from 5. At the end of this, they all start to run through the forested gap, imperceptive of me sliding down the hill behind them, pistol in both hands.

 

BANG!   One from the left

 

BANG!  One from the right

 

The one in the back falls before they even realize what’s happening.

 

BANG!  One from the left

 

BANG!   One from the right  And suddenly just Francis and Herb are 

left.  By this point in their state of panic, the two of them have whirled around and fired randomly, both shots going into the side of the hill beside me. I line up again.

 

BANG!   One from the right

 

BANG!   One from the left   Francis drops his gun. Herb drops to the ground.

 

“You’ll pay for this!” yells Francis, clawing at his belt with his left, unwounded arm.  “We’ll come for you! You just killed yourself! AND Lorraine!”

 

I line up the shot. But now I had time to think.  “I’ll spare you if you tell whoever you’re working for that the job’s done.”

 

The man looks up at me confusedly, before a smile crosses his face.  “Yeah. Yeah! I will. I will. I promise.” 

 

I keep the gun pointed at him. He puts his hand around something on his belt.

 

“What’s that?” I say, pointing my other revolver at his grasping hand.

 

“This? Oh. Nothing.”

 

We stare untrustingly at each other for just a second. Suddenly his hand snaps forward.

 

BANG! 

 

He falls backwards. But the thing he threw from his belt soars through the air. It’s a small orb, about two inches across. And it’s glowing a bright green. It hits the ground, about three feet in front of me, and explodes into vibrant puff of green vapor illuminated by bright white lights. It looks like a firework. A firework that’s stealing itself away inside my lungs. I collapse to the ground after just a second, coughing violently. It feels like someone lit a fire next to my heart. My ears are ringing, but in the distance I hear a faint “Clarence!”  The word echoes through my mind, as my head goes blank.

 

They say in times of great bodily stress, in times of great peril, you come closest to God.

They also say that it’s times like these that you dream your most important dreams.

Dreams about what haunt you. Dreams about things you should know. Exactly the right dream for what you’re going through.

 

  

  1. Dream about family   2.  Dream about  friends   3.  Dream about the future

 

 

Day 10:   Living

 

Results:  A-4  B-1  C-2   Conclusion: Dream about Family

 

“Clarence! Come downstairs, it’s time for supper!”

 

“C’mon mom, I told you I’m not hungry!”

 

“You can’t keep playing with your toys forever, young man, and you know supper’s about more than food!”

 

“...Fine.”

 

The table, like everything in my house, is dressed resplendently. After all, us Thomsons were perhaps the fifth or sixth most wealthy family in all of Ohio.  We sat around the 

table, not talking. Like always. At least except when Dad is around, but that’s not very often.  Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door.Mom pouts, “It must be your father. Bit 

early for a Thursday... Clarence,  John, stay here and eat your supper.”

 

She went to the door.It was a man with a letter. It wasn’t Dad. It was never going to be Dad again.  It’s 1848. I’m 15. It’s been 9 years since I’d seen my father.My mother had   away what fortune we had left keeping a semblance of finery to her life. We’d been left with nothing but what he gave us in his will. John, a gold-hilted flintlock. Bold, brash, garish, and not afraid to go above and beyond. But me? I was quick, calculating, precise. I got a pocketwatch. A silver pocketwatch. The most beautiful pocketwatch. But those weren’t things we could sell. At least not while we had our wits. And we needed money.

 

John and I had to work together. But people didn’t seem to like it when we did that.

John was just 12. He shouldn’t be being chased by the police. Much less should he be being caught.

 

Moving out is one thing. Leaving your old life behind. The uncertainty of a new environment. The thrill. The fright. Being thrown out is another, much worse fate.The year is 1850. We’re told to pack our bags and go west, or serve 20 years in a cramped, violent prison. John wants to stay. I tell him he’s an idiot.

 

The west is filled with people like us. That’s a troubling thought. But we’ve been working on this since we were children. 1857. Kings among thieves.The Thompsons. Known for miles. Plague of Arizona.

 

A name rings through my head.  A horrible, cursed name. Cassandra. It hurts. 

Cassandra. The name hurts. Cassandra. Clarence. Cassandra.  Clarence.  It hurts. Clarence.

“Clarence.”

 

“Clarence!”

 

I cough. I feel like I should be dead. It’s hard to breathe.  “Clarence! Thank god! Here, Clarence, breathe, breathe deep!”

 

Lorraine is kneeling over me, close. Her long hair is draping onto my face. Beneath my nose is a white light. When I breathe in, it smells of a chemical bath. But I can feel the gas hurting less. I can feel at all again. The next hour or so is a blur of slow recovery, questions with no answers, and fear. I haven't been brought this close to death since... 

since that time with John... that I... nevermind.

 

As I finally come back to, I realize how exhausted I am. Lorraine and I fall asleep right there in the hills. A few hundred feet off trail. Surrounded by cacti, sand, and dead men. 

I must’ve dreamed all I needed to dream, for I had a dreamless night until morning.

I wake up. From the air I’d say it’s about... 10AM? But this far away from home it’s hard to tell. I see Lorraine sitting on a rock next to me. Her left leg has been torn, and wrapped around her right thigh. There’s a red spot.  That must’ve been where she got shot. She’s lucky it wasn’t an artery. I cough.  I’m lucky it wasn’t an artery.

 

Suddenly she speaks. She hadn’t been looking over at me, it’s as if she just knew I’d woken up. “They were trying to kill me for what I’ve done. I’m through lying. What more damage could be done by telling one person? Ask me. Ask me anything, and I’ll talk.”

 

The Choice for today is different. It asks you to be a little bit creative.  Ask Lorraine a question. She’ll answer it for you.

Day 11: Answers

 

(Disclaimer: Not all questions were asked outright. If you don’t see your question, it’s because it was answered here somewhere.)

 

 

I look up at Lorraine for a while. Turning her back on her deceit is almost as big of a face change as when she first changed from the shy girl upstairs to Lorraine Eaton: partner on the case. My head buzzes with questions, yet I can’t find a single one to say. I know I’m going to need to ease her on slowly. I can’t push my luck with this; this newfound security of hers. Slowly, my mind pieces together a question. A good first question. 

 

“Who taught you Norwegian?”

 

“No one did. Or, rather, everyone did. Languages, at least most of them, are used interchangeably where I’m from. It’s a part of the job, to be able to fit in anywhere.”

 

“Speaking of that, what brought you to Arizona?” 

 

“Elizabeth. She had been my friend and partner for the last 20 years. She’d come on a purchasing job but had gotten in a little bit over her head. She met John, who said he could help her. In introducing herself to the residents, she was already breaking procedure, you have to understand.  So, when John ended up stealing what she needed, she was blacklisted. Trying to escape repercussion got her into even deeper trouble. The kind of trouble that ends up killing you. She went back to John for protection, and wrote me to tell me what happened. I told her I’d help her. She begged me not to. But, here I am. Here to clear her name. And in my quest to do so, it appears I’ve gained her 

sentence.”

 

“Lorraine?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You said you’d been partners 20 years now, but you barely look 20 yourself. Where are you from?”

 

“The arctic.”

 

“...What?”

 

“I’m from the arctic.”

 

“I didn’t know anyone lived up there.”

 

“No one's supposed to. And they didn’t, until a few decades ago. Not until more kids started believing in Santa.”

 

“...Santa?”

 

“Santa Claus. The one who brings kids gifts at Christmas?”

 

“He’s not real.”

 

“You believe in God, don’t you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“In a world that God made for humans, in a world in which he made humans in his image. If humans want something enough, the humans get what they want.”

 

“That’s so... stupid. I’ve wanted my father back for forty years now, but I’ve not gotten him.”

 

“The whole world doesn't pray for your father, now does it Clarence?”

 

“That’s just not how the world works.”

 

“Then I suppose these are hallucinations.”  Lorraine pulls back her hair, and for the first time I see them, buried underneath the locks. Like her nose and chin come to a point, 

so her ears do too. A tall, slender, inhuman point. I just stare, for a second or two. This is insane. There’s no way this is real; this is insane.

 

The silence grows.

 

“I’m still open to questions.”

 

“What is... what was your job?”

 

“Human will can go a long way, but it can’t do everything. Presents for millions of children, exactly what they want? That’s not feasible. It’s our job to go out and get the materials. Elizabeth was out to get jewelry, for only the very best of children. And John stole it. Stole it very obviously too. That's how this whole thing really got started.”

 

My head is still buzzing with questions, but suddenly my mind snaps back.There’s benefits and detriments to having a goal-oriented mindset. Either way, I can’t remember anything else of what I was going to say, just what we have to do. My mind spins through the insanity, and says the one thing it can.

 

“We’ve got to get to Salt Lake City.”  Save John. Save Elizabeth. Then maybe we can start thinking about whether or not we accept what we heard here today. And what our 

answer to that means for us.  “If we want to get there fast, there’s only going to be 

time for one stop.”

    1.  A Doctor, to get Lorraine’s Leg   

   2.  Check out a Trading Post, to restock on ammunition and the like

   3.  A Church, to get my mind back in order

 

 

Day 12: Intermission

 

Results: A-2  B-6  C-0   Conclusion: Stop at a Trading Post

 

In my objectifying state, I posited that we might take Lorraine to a doctor. She objected, responding that we already had the medical kit that we’d brought along. It had really slipped my mind. Just 36 hours seemed so long ago.... The trading post in Tselakai had everything we needed, and now my revolvers have reloads to spare. We shouldn’t need to shoot more than 30 times, but... this world has surprised me before. This week has surprised me before. 

 

Lorraine seemed very cold emotionally, for a while. Eventually she loosened up, a day or two into the ride. But, whenever we would talk- about her life; about mine- she’d tense up a bit. She’d sounded… mechanical. But one night, as we were riding into the sunset, I realized something. Endless desert before me. Alexandria beneath me. Loaded revolvers in my pocket. A woman, huddled close behind me. Off to meet with 

destiny. I had a goal. A meaningful goal, and the means to accomplish it. For the first time since that day with John, I was happy. I looked at the sunset, and understood how terrified I was that it would go.

 

Tomorrow I’ll tell a story. We have time before we get to Salt Lake, we’re still four or five days out. 

 

Which story would you like to hear?

    1.  What Happened Between John and me

    2.  What Life’s been like for Lorraine

Day 13:  John

 

Results:  A-6   B-2    Conclusion: Tell What Happened between John and me

 

I’ve always hated sunsets. The grand impermanence of them. The daily revelation that everything beautiful must turn to dust. Nothing can ever stay the way it is. Moving, moving, always moving. I despise moving.  That’s why everyday we fight to stay right where we are, John and I. We fight to stay on top of the pile. The Thompsons, the plague of Arizona. And every day, I get reminded a little bit more how much I never want things to 

change.

 

“And when you’re a man like me, sitting on top of the world? You get what you want. Don’t you, Cassandra?”

 

The tall brunette next to me blows out a long drag on her Unio cigar. She gives a small giggle and shakes her head a little.

 

“Darling, if I had a penny for every time you said you could control fate?”

 

“It’d barely be a drop in the bucket compared to our coffers.” 

 

“And you say it a lot.”

 

“You’re damn right I do.”

 

The pause between us extends, and I find myself drawn to looking at the town, far below our third story balcony. The people walking through the streets. My slaves. They may not be black, but they’re my slaves all the less. Here they walk. Hauling grain. Chopping wood. I own them. I own the town. Damn, I own this territory for 25 miles in any direction as far as the eye could see.  Father would be proud. 

 

And Cassandra. Cassandra was different. Oh, I’d had the wenches who would ask me to marry them for my money, but I’d always say no. I was too smart for that. I needed a woman just as quick as I was, and they, they were rare.  I’d dated Cassandra from the coldest days of 1862 to the warmest of 1864, and all that time I’d had voices crammed down my ear, “Marry her! Oh marry her already!” but no. Clarence Thompson would take his time, thank you very much. 

 

And then, a giant heist, on a whole town, and in the bundles of bills and treasures aplenty, a diamond ring, as beautiful as anything, rode upon the top. And I knew it was the right time. I stood atop that pile of riches and I looked down at my sweet and I said “Dearest Cassandra, for all the help you’ve given me, for all the beauty you’ve put into my life, for all the things most wonderful, I’d ask only one favor.” 

 

She didn’t even let me ask the question before she screamed yes and jumped up in my embrace. I felt a soft squeeze on my arm, and looked to see Cassandra fiddling with the lace on her corset. She looked at me with warm, pleading eyes, and asked “Shall we... retire early tonight?” How could I say no to a face like that?

 

John’s been more and more quiet lately. More and more absent. Cassandra too. Eh, I’m reading too much into it. John’s always had these annoying grief spells ever since we got evicted outta Ohio. To me, it’s the best thing to ever happen to us! I swear, I just don’t get him sometimes. And 

Cassandra, well, Cassandra’s just being Cassandra. Been married 8 years now, and 

everyday it feels like she complains more and more. 

 

“Oh, the wages need to go up, oh Mr.Altos is sick!” Who cares!   She keeps forcing me to change and adapt. Has it ever occurred to her that I’m the man and I’m supposed to know what’s best? And what’s best is this! I’m the best I’ve ever been in my life! Why does she want to take that away from me?  I’m sorry, I got off topic. It’s not worth talking 

about.

 

June 24th, 1872. 2:31 AM.

 

I know that because I looked at my father’s pocketwatch and wondered what that crashing sound could be at this ungodly hour. I rolled over to grab the space next to 

me. “Cassandra... Cassandra,” I moaned as I shook my arm lakidasically.  It took at least 5 seconds for me to realize she wasn’t there. I staggered out of bed, and immediately grabbed my forehead. I forgot how much I’d been drinking last night. Ugh. Richard kept telling me to stop, but, what can I say, I get carried away! Who 

doesn’t.  Stay on target Clarence.

I hadn’t been wearing a shirt, but I keep my revolver on me at all times. I stagger my way down a flight of stairs, then another. Time seems to accelerate and decelerate. Moving from a stampede to a crawl. Maybe... maybe that’s just me.  I finally find my way down to the bottom floor. To the foyer. I see something that... confuses me.

 

Dead ahead of me is John. And Cassandra. But they’re fully dressed. John’s got something next to him. A can of kerosene? For the lamps? They both just, stare at me. Then, finally, Cassandra says something.

 

“Clarence. I tried. But I wasn’t the one who failed. I’m sorry. I loved you.”

 

Those words. They’re serious words. I blink, twice. My eyes stop wandering as much and start to focus on her. Then, John speaks. “You’re a disgrace Clarence. You don’t deserve any of this. Our father was an honest businessman, and now you’ve become the soul of everything that killed him. You’re an idiot. A selfish, egoistic idiot. And if 

you can’t learn your lesson the easy way, then I’m going to have to teach you 

myself.”

 

He struts towards me, his body standing two inches taller than my own. He stops, about four feet away from me, and reaches out his 

hand.

 

“All the rest of this, you can keep it. I don’t want anything your hands have wrought. But give me his watch.” I look at his hand, then back to his face. My eyebrows furrow.

 

“The fuck’re you on about?”

 

“You don’t deserve it. Give me. His watch.”

 

He pushes out his hand again, further this time. I look at his face. And my hand digs into my pocket.  I pull it out and look at it in my hand. The intricate design on the front. The flowing silver chain. Solid craftsmanship. Could take a hit. I clench it in my fist and crack John in the face.

 

He staggers back, his hand clawing at his nose, bent over sideways. A red trickle quickly runs down his chin.  His eyes flick up at me.“You made me do this, Clarence.”

 

Before I can do anything I hear an ear shattering bang, and my shin echoes with pain. I fall to one knee. I see him holster his pistol, 

and pull out a knife. I try to lunge at him, but in my hobbled state I just end up doubling over, so I’m on my hands. He gets down on one knee with me, and looks me in the 

eyes. Looks me in the eyes for the last time.

 

“You made me do this.”  The knife sears deep into the flesh of my right 

arm. My hand can’t help but open. The pocketwatch falls to the ground. 

 

“I couldn’t let it rot here with you.”

 

He stands up, and turns away from me. He strides back to the door, and gives a sharp nod to Cassandra. Cassandra just takes one look at me, and her eyebrows furrow in disgust. They both step out of the doorway, as John unholsters his pistol again and shoots the kerosene can in the doorway.

 

At one time, I thought it was smart to put the buildings right next to each other in Thomsville. But as I dragged my tattered, burnt, exhausted body through the streets, I could see the flames from my home leap from building to building. Soon there’d be nothing left. There was only one place left for me to go. I slumped into the saloon, leaving a trail of red behind me. Richard looked up at me and slowly stopped rinsing the glass he’d been washing. I’d always appreciated the long hours he’d be willing to work to see the townspeople happy. I couldn’t bear to look him in the face. I just 

collapsed, and muttered into the ground beneath me “Whaddya say buddy. One last 

round? On me?”  And I cried.

 

 

1.  Enter Salt Lake City looking for John

2.  Enter Salt Lake City looking to rest

3.  Enter Salt Lake City looking for revenge

 

 

Day 14: An Ugly, Disheartening Mirror

 

Results:  A-5  B-2  C-1   Conclusion: Enter Salt Lake City Looking for John

 

As the day of our reunion grows nearer. I fall quieter and quieter. I can see myself failing to converse, but I can do nothing to fight it. I’ve spent a long time thinking about what I would say to John when I saw him again. Whether I would be sorry, or angry. Whether I would be defensive or aggressive. To be honest, I have no idea what I’m going to say. All I know is that I desperately want to hear what he says to me. Part of me hopes he feels the same way.

 

December 22nd, 1879. It’s snowing. Lorraine and I had to stop by a tailor to pick up some scrap clothes to keep us from the cold. The bad news is now we look like 

beggars. The good news is that now people will stop staring at Lorraine’s torn bare calf and odd attire.  Who knew that being by a lake would’ve been so cold?  

 

The preliminary search of the town failed miserably. No one had even heard of me, in all my infamy, much less John or some mysterious “Elizabeth.”  But, Lorraine assures me that they left us the message, and they’ll find us. I’d rather not think on John finding me though. My mind likes this whole thing a lot better the other way around. So, we continue to search.

 

I wonder what this city would be like without snow. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Salt Lake before, and places tend to... transform, under certain precipitations. With snow, this place seems an awful drudge. The people look miserable, the ground looks miserable. Even the snow, flurrying as it is, looks to be half-hearted in its plight to reach the ground. This is a town that fits right in with my current psyche. Like looking in a mirror. An ugly, disheartening mirror. 

 

Once the light dies down and the city starts to go to sleep, I find us an inn to hole up in. It’s a cozy little two story abode, with 10 rooms, only 5 of which were occupied when we arrived, so we got quite a good deal. The room is alright.  Stained sheets and short candles, but, second floor, and there’s room enough to be cozy.  Only one bed. The most cliched, awkward thing possible.

 

Without a second though, Lorraine and I each take opposite sides and face outwards, away from one another, though occasionally one of us would roll onto our backs if we needed to say something. It had been a long day though. Quickly, we fell asleep. Me, facing inwards, towards the door. Her, outwards, towards the window.  The night was passing dreamlessly.

 

“Clarence”

 

I feel myself being shaken violently. My bones creak against the lumpy mattress as I claw for my revolver. Then I hear the patter of unshoed footsteps, running across the room towards the window.

 

“Clarence! Get up! Clarence!”

 

My mind, unfit for adult conversation after just being roused from an restless sleep, does the best it can to form a coherent thought.

 

“Zzzuwhuh?”

 

She points out of the window, and just says. “It’s Elizabeth, and John too. I don’t think they know you’re here.” My eyes bolt open. I’m out of bed and in the hallway before I know it, throwing on my patched-up coat as I go. My mind races with what I’m going to tell him.

 

What should Clarence say to John?  Write it out.

 

 

I apologize for the lack of an update last night. I did write it, and I did hit send, so I had no idea it didn’t work until I went to school (where I can’t send emails from). I found out 

when I got home that my outbox had broken and hadn’t sent it, because of an error on my part, specifically Windows Live Mail’s subtle, hidden way of showing what email address you’re sending FROM. In any case, once it was past 4, I knew I couldn’t just send out the email, so I decided to make tonight’s a double day featuring both days’ chapters. Don’t vote on day 15’s choice, as it will have no effect on the story. Thank you for bearing with me, and here’s hoping that nothing annoying like that happens for the rest of this adventure.

Day 15: Six Years

 

The little ideas go through my head like sparks. They range from a soft welcome,

“Just say hello! ”To the exact opposite,“Fuck you!” From the manipulative, Just let Lorraine do the talking, and step in when you can get the jump on him. To the bold, and direct, “Give me the watch.”

 

My brain spins with ideas, barely able to pause long enough for one to coalesce. But then an idea flitters into my mind, and my other ideas begin to latch onto it. Just as the door bursts open into the cold, windy street, I have my answer.

 

The two of them were in the alley, to the right of the building.  The streets are dark, and desolate. Slow winds push the powdered snow meanderingly through the plazas. I hear them speak. A woman's voice, then another’s,  unmistakably Lorraine’s. 

 

“What do you mean you killed them! How could you kill them! You’re not a warrior Lorraine, you don’t even have a gun! They have, like, rifles and gas grenades and, and training! And there were four of them! Who could beat that?”

 

“I’ve gotten some help along the way. I believe he’s gone down there to introduce himself.”

 

I read that as my cue, and I walk around the corner. There he stands. An oil lamp shining bright in hand.  Short brimmed hat upon his brow. Mutton chops disconnected from a scraggly mustache.  He’s wearing a brown, stiff trenchcoat, and black, knitted gloves. His eyes, sunken and contemptuous, flick upwards at me, and slowly start to drop 

away. Drop away from focus. His thoughts are more internal than external.  His arms still long, his frame still thin and lanky. That gold-handled pistol still by his side.

He looks at me. I look at him.

 

The small lady by his side, who I hadn’t even deigned to 

notice, speaks up.  “Do... do you two know each other?”

 

I give a shallow, contemplative smile.  “John.”

 

“Clarence.”

 

His voice is scratchy and coarse. As I look at him I see a dozen wrinkles that weren’t there last I’d laid eyes on him.  The silence lays thick. No one breaks it. Not Elizabeth, 

nor Lorraine, nor God himself. The wind whips its last whip as my jaw flexes, and my tongue loosens.

“It’s been a while. Do you happen to have the time?”

 

He looks at me a while longer. But inevitably, he begins to speak as well.

 

“Clarence, do you know why I put your name on that man’s wall?”

 

“To frame me.”

 

“No Clarence. The mighty Clarence Thompson couldn’t be killed or thrown in jail, no. I put that there in the hopes that you would find me.”

 

I look at him. My subtle smirk turning sourly into a scowl. 

 

“In hopes you would have learned your lesson. I hoped I 

could say, “I’m sorry,” but you haven’t learned a goddamn thing, have you?”

 

I stare at him. I feel my left eye twitch. The subtle flow of the wind starts to begin again.

“John, I’m glad you’ve come to understand that what you did was wrong, but no amount of apologizing can undo it.”

 

“I didn’t say I apologized.”

 

“And here you stand, where’s Cassandra.”

 

“Cassandra’s dead.”

 

We both stop. I’m awed by the bluntness of his statement. He talked about her demise the way someone said hello. If someone didn’t speak English, they’d think he was telling me about his lunch.

 

“She died in 1977. It hit the obituaries all over Arizona. Childbirth.”

 

I look at him blankly.

 

“Looks like she moved on. Did you?”  My lips purse. My fingers move and sway. 

Inside I’m a boiling cauldron. And I have no idea what I’m about to 

do.

 

  

1.  Break away and talk to Elizabeth

2.  Leave alone/with Lorraine

3.  Kill John Thompson​

 

Day 16: Hesitation

 

Results:  Null  Conclusion: Author’s Choice

 

 

We’re stuck. We’re stuck here just staring at each other. Too little information to make a move, too much mistrust to share the information the other lacks. 

 

And so, we stare.

 

I begin to notice those little details about John that come from having known someone your whole life. The way his back is now slightly hunched forward. The way those black-ish circles around his eyes now appear to be permanent. The way he hasn’t changed his hat in the last 15 years. It’s strange. I haven’t thought about him in any context beyond hatred for 6 years. More. But here he was, and he was my brother.

 

The hesitation is what gets you. It’s a dog eat dog world, we don’t have time for hesitation.  But... hesitation towards what?  The seconds drag on. It becomes a full minute since someone spoke, yet the atmosphere is no less thick, no less intense. John makes an attempt to kill the tension. Leaning up against a wall, he begins to question.

 

So, Clarence. You and Lorraine ended up working together?”

 

“Seems that way.”

 

“So you’re trying to help her then? That’s it? Got no... ulterior motives.” he scratches the front of his neck.

 

“Want to get the horses back. Beyond that, no, but I could go out of my way if I wanted to. I’m not on a schedule.” 

 

“The horses? Why would you want them?”

 

“So a farmer gives me money.”

 

He pauses at that, for just a second. “Oh, Clarence. If it were 10 years ago, you would have robbed him blind as if it were nothing.”

 

“And you would’ve been bitching about it for the next two weeks. Your point?”

 

“You’re an old man now.”

 

“And you’re not?”

 

“I at least took aging with grace.”

 

Again, we pause.The silence grows longer again. It’s draining to just be 

a part of this conversation.

 

“The horses, John.”

 

“Sold them to a farmer in Cortez Colorado for the money to make the trip here. Was down in Arizona for business when Elizabeth found me, didn’t have much on me. Had to make do. Fast.”

 

“I need those horses, John.”

 

“No, Clarence. You don’t need anything. You’ve never needed something other than what you already had. Revolvers. Brain. The only problem is that now you can’t use them. You’re obsolete.”

 

A voice from upstairs blurts out, “Guys...”. We both ignore it.

 

“I’m doing just fine for myself, thank you. I’m doing better than I have any right to be, seeing as how if you got your way, I’d be dead.”

 

“Guys.”

 

“Please, Clarence. Why don’t you do us both a favor and just let me handle this. Go home and cry about how the plague of Arizona finally caught its own death. No one else wants to hear it. No one else mourns you but yourself.”

 

“Guys!”

 

“WHAT, LORRAINE.” I bellow.

 

Everyone goes quiet. And John’s heavy, wheezing breaths become immediately apparent.

 

“Um... we should go. Now.”

 

“Why is that, Lorraine.”

 

“They’re here.”

 

One last time, for a second, everyone stops. The staccato conversation finally ends, and Elizabeth’s hand touches her collarbone.

 

“You’re right. I can feel it too.”

 

She looks up at John.

 

“I should have listened to you, it was a mistake to wait for her so long.”

 

I call up to Lorraine, “Pass my stuff through the window! There’s no time for me to go back up there!”

 

“Got it!”

 

As I grab my bag of supplies, I turn around and see John looking at me. I expect him to say something, but he does nothing. In a few seconds of adjusting straps, I ask, “What?”

 

His eyes flick between the ground and my face. “Why wouldn’t someone look to the guy with the most experience getting shot at for combat advice.” I smile, mockingly.

 

1.  Kill the aggressors

2.  Run before you’re seen

3.  Trick John into fighting alone and run

 Day 17: Under Heavy Fire

 

Results:  A-5  B-0  C-2   Conclusion: Kill the aggressors

 

I point at the oil lamp that John is holding, and open my hand, palm up. John looks at my hand, then at me, then gingerly places the lamp in my grip, eyeing me as he does.

I slide it into my left hand, drawing my revolver from the right. I nod at John, run my right thumb across my neck quickly, and slowly slink out of the alley, trying to spot the attackers Lorraine and Elizabeth were “sensing.”

 

It wasn’t hard. A group of maybe 20 men march in tandem down the street. They bring to bear rifles, and what looks like some kind of rudimentary armor plating.  This was going to be a tough fight, even for my standards, but I couldn’t back down now. 

I slide down the wall of the building, turning the oil lamp down until it was just barely alight. And I wait. For just the right opportunity. 

 

The group splits, quite a few rigorously searching a storefront across the road. A storefront with folded umbrellas, curtains, and whatever else. A flammable storefront. That was it. I pull back my left arm, line up my throw, and breathily  yell, just loud enough for the others to hear, “Go!”

 

The oil lamp sails through the air, and by the time it  lands, the men have barely had time ready their rifles. It lands with a clunk. And nothing happens. After the split second that it took for my brain to register what had happened, I loose a barrage of profanity under my breath. Then, one of the panicked soldiers shoots it.

 

A substantial explosion wrecks the nearest few men, and the storefront is instantly ablaze. Some of the men, who were caught off guard by the explosion, shoot into the debris, and two or three more of them fall.  John runs out from behind me into the street, his golden pistol glimmering in the orange light to the fire. He shoots once, a magnificent blaze of smoke ejecting from its barrel. One man falls. He shoots again, with 

his bullets once again reaching home. A second man falls.  Being carried by his momentum, he starts to duck towards the opposite alley. His eyes are wide. Having not seen the group before, he obviously wasn’t expecting one of this size. 

 

Lorraine comes out of the inn’s door, and rushes to the safety of the alleyway. The men who have figured out what’s happening begin quickly encroaching. I see both John and Lorraine running, and draw my left pistol, pivoting into the street and giving them covering fire. I don’t bother aiming, but with a group this big, three of them fall before John and Lorraine get to safety.  One of them barks an order in some strange, foreign 

tongue.  

 

“ΣυγκεντρÏŽστε και χωρίστε τη φωτιά σας!“ 

 

Immediately, they file back into groups that have some semblance of order, and begin firing, half and half, on both my side of the road, and John’s side. Peeking our heads out now would be suicide. Dust flies, chunks of stone hurl from the walls. And 

they’re still encroaching. There are only about ten of them left, but that’s still five per each of the fighters we have, and they have better equipment. Then, the same one that yelled the order earlier switches to English, in a heavy accent. 

 

“You all! Give the Elizabeth to us, and we will let you go with your lives. You are harboring a murderer and a traitor!”

 

Johns eyes flick at me from across the street. Lorraine looks at Elizabeth with confusion. Elizabeth looks at Lorraine with fear.

 

“You have ten seconds!”

 

1.  Hand Elizabeth over

2.  Keep fighting, screw the odds!

3.  Try to negotiate

 

 

Day 18: Going down

 

Results:  A-0  B-4  C-3   Conclusion: Keep fighting, screw the odds!

 

No. They’re not getting Elizabeth. They’re not going to get the satisfaction. They’ll pry her from my cold dead hands.

 

I turn back to Lorraine and Elizabeth, the conflagration of explosions and gunpowder getting ever closer, and I utter two, simple words.  “Follow me.”

 

And I take my fingers off the triggers of my pistols, and jump through the window of one of the bottom floor rooms of this inn.  The window was just above the bed, and as so, I find myself bouncing against the padded mattress. I manage to recover well and land with both of my hands on the floor on the other side of the bed, before pulling myself to my feet and shouldering through the weak wooden door. I move to start reloading my pistols, while I wait for Lorraine and Elizabeth to follow. Elizabeth cooly vaults the window and scoots down the bed. Lorraine is last, still hobbled a bit from the bullet from a week ago, she cutely flops through the window and gets a bit tangled up in the sheets before Elizabeth pulls her free and to her feet. Upon seeing her enter, I run through the foyer. The other, panicked tenants are scattered throughout, woken from their slumber from the plentiful gunshots.

 

I barge through the door opposite and through the window. In this room the tenant remains, a middle-aged man, half dressed, grabbing through his wardrobe. He screams and ducks upon seeing me enter. Lorraine and Elizabeth quickly follow, but seem a bit nervous around the mass of civilians. The next building has no windows, and the alleyway is sealed by a thick fence.

 

I finally finish reloading my pistols. I look at the two girls, and just scream “Go!” as I pull up my revolvers and dive out of the alleyway, shooting at the mass of people. I see one fall before the group’s attention shifts from the alleyway they’d nearly reached (thank God they hadn’t heard the window breaking over the gunshots) and notice me. A second man falls. Only three men still pursue me, but that’s three more than I need.

 

And then, I feel a bullet rip through my shoulder.

 

My right pistol drops.

 

The searing pain shoots through me as I stagger for just a minute, and then turn to retreat to where the girls are running to. I see them duck behind a building as I sprint as fast as I can, but my wound is slowing me down. I turn and shoot a few times, but then I feel another bullet strike me, in my lower right back. I’m brought to my knees. I flip over so I’m lying on my back and start shooting between my legs. One man falls, then another. There’s only one left. Then I feel another sharp pain, in my left shin. I shoot one more time, but miss. One more shot. I pull the trigger.  But I only hear a click.

 

I fumble to reload, but I see the man lining up another shot. My eyes flick between my cylinder and his barrel.

 

One second Then another.

Then a man steps out into the street, and pulls a pistol at the man. In light of the fire, 200 feet down the road, I see the glimmer of flickering gold reflecting from its grip. A gunshot echoes through the streets.  And the man falls.

 

I look, the group John had been fighting are all down as well. I wonder how he did it, but that’s something I couldn’t know, at least for now. I could feel myself fading, quickly.

 

Then I see the man John shot moving. I see John striding towards him. I hear the man yell, in that same, heavily influenced accent, “Don’t you get it, she’s going to sell it!  She’s going to kill us-”

 

And then, there’s the final, sickening gunshot.

 

1.  Dream about Family

2.  Dream about Friends

3.  Dream about the future

 

Day 19: Fire and Lead

 

Results:  A-0  B-2  C-5   Conclusion: Dream of the future

 

A slimy, hissing voice enters my ear. I can see nothing, but I know its source to be the serpent of Eden. Its soft tones caress me, its sharp edges digging into my scalp. It speaks.  “Two brothers. Each ruined by fire. Two brothers. Taken to hell by lead.”

 

Suddenly, my vision is filled with light. I see fires. Wisps of fires, flowing around and around.  The room I’m in, once huge and opulent, now stands tainted by flames, rendered unrecognizable. I feel a deep, grueling pain. Not just in my shoulder, or 

abdomen, or calf, but all throughout me. The serpent speaks again.

 

“Two brothers. Driven mad with greed, their endless work alchemically reduced to ash.”

 

Smoke from the flames clouds my vision, and seeps into my lungs. My veins. My brain. I see black, endless black. Then, far away, oh so far away, I see a row of candles. Just five of them, but each with their own candlestick. Beautiful and opulent. 

 

“Family more alike than any. Each a  mirror. Reflecting just for the other. Neither likes what they see.”

 

From the edge of the group, the candles get ethereally snuffed out, one at a time, until only the center remains. It flickers for just a second longer, and then evaporates into the deep black.

 

“Indignantly refusing to see what’s right in front of them, as their lives burn away.”

 

“And there’s nothing you can do.”

The fire ignites around me again, but this time, the pain is gone. I’m left to watch as the orange light cascades around the walls. It never collapses. The flames never die. I’ve been here, probably less than a minute, but it feels like hours. Like days.

 

After my time looking around the room, I bring my head back, front and center. There, where there was nothing before, resting in a basic, rustic chair coated in flames, is John. He simply looks at me. His eyebrows furrowed, hunched forward, his hands curled together. His face wears a resigned pout.  

 

I begin to stammer out a greeting. It feels like the right thing to do.  “H-hello?”

 

He looks at me with great pain. He shakes his head a little.  “I’m sorry for what I did. So terribly sorry. But I can’t regret it. It drives a man mad, knowing that his actions saved many lives, but ruined the life of the one who mattered most.”

 

He looks at me, his eyes begging, pleading. But he doesn't speak, waiting for an answer.

 

“John. I understand.”

 

He lets out a sigh, as I move to conclude my thought:

 

“But I could never forgive you. Never.”

 

His eyes glance up a tiny bit, to meet mine. The fingers of his clasped hands wriggle, for just a moment.He draws a deep breath, his body shuffles on the flaming chair, comfortably but somehow intimidatingly. 

 

“Then I want you to have this.”

 

His hands unclasp from each other, and he draws his right hand forward, as if offering its contents to me. His fingers unfurl, and inside, shining as beautifully as ever, is my father’s pocketwatch.

 

But it burns. The chain glows white as flames lick its length. The watch itself burns ever so bright, the flames encircling it reaching great heights. The intensity of its heat is matched by nothing. Not the walls around me, not John’s chair, nor his steely face.

 

I tentatively slip my hand forward.  And grab it.  John bursts into flame, the whole of his body disintegrating into ash in less than a second, that gets wisped away into the 

burning atmosphere.  As my hand caresses the watch’s beautiful exterior, the 

pain from before returns, tenfold, searing down my every vein.  I see the room peter out, the flames vanishing, turning pitch black, showing what they were hiding. 

 

Nothing. Endless void behind them, the walls themselves were flame. The chair snuffs itself out as well. And I feel my body ache. And I float away.Nothing but the watch left. And I hear the same voice lurch from the darkness.

 

“Two brothers. Each ruined by fire. Two brothers. Taken to hell by lead. It’s already begun.”  

 

I jolt awake, taking a moment to understand that the reason I can see nothing is because there’s no light around me to see. Utterly black. I’d think it was still a dream, but I could feel the wounds I’d taken pulsing and aching, and I had that human sense of the humid environment I was in. This was no dream.

 

I try to pull at my arms, but found them bound, furled outwards at 45 degree angles from my torso. My legs still feel free.

 

 

1.  Try to feel around your environment for a way out

2.  Yell for help

3.  Resign yourself and wait

You all may have noticed that this wasn’t at midnight! That’s because I’ve been killing myself to stay up 

to midnight every day, and as much as I pride being responsible and reliable and sticking to a schedule, I also value being alive. So... for these last six chapters, new policy: Midnight if I’m awake, or, whenever I wake up in the morning. Which, today, was... now! Hopefully this isn’t that annoying, and contributes to a better product.

 

Day 20: Lorraine

 

Results:  A-5  B-1  C-1  Conclusion: Try to feel around your environment for a way out

 

 

When you’re forced to use your legs to do something your arms normally do, or vice-versa, you find out quickly just how well the human body is made for arms being arms and legs being legs. It’s next to impossible to run on your hands, and you just don’t get that arm experience working with your legs.   But, I throw my legs from side to side, and I can tell that whatever I’m being held to isn’t enclosed, at least. My right leg is thrown 

off the side. As it falls, my back pinches and the pain from the bullet wound echoes through me. Taken off guard, I give a loud grunt. It reverberates around the room, before I hear, from maybe ten feet away from me, a small voice, creep from the blackness.

 

“...Clarence?”

 

I recognize it. “Lorraine?”

 

“Thank god, I thought you were dead.”

 

“Oh, I’ve taken more bullets than that before.”

 

A hush falls across the room. Now that I know that she’s there, I can hear her breathing. When one can’t use their eyes their nose and ears really become paranoid… Lorraine begins talking again.

 

“I can’t believe it.”

 

“Can’t believe what?”

 

“That Elizabeth would... would lie like that.”

 

“Okay, Lorraine?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Slow down, tell me everything that happened since I blacked out.”

 

“Alright...”

 

Once again, the room grows silent, but no one draws a breath. Then, Lorraine begins.

 

“As soon as John shot the man, I started asking Elizabeth a whole bunch of questions. She didn’t answer any of them, she just waited for John to come. John picked up your revolvers, and put you... your body, over his shoulder, and then came over to me. Elizabeth’s silence was really starting to freak me out, so when John started walking towards me, I tried to get away, but Elizabeth said something and... and he grabbed me. Then they took us to this room and started talking about... something. They always said ‘When it happens,’ or ‘After that, then we’ll…,’ or whatever. Then they strapped us down and left. I could probably have remembered more if I was paying more attention. I’m 

sorry.”

 

“You were under a’lotta stress, I get it.”

 

“But there’s some good news.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“They locked the door, but when they come back... well, I’m not sure if I could do it, but... I think that my gloves are heavy enough that if I pull my hands out, the straps are wide enough around my gloves that I could just pop them free.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“No. And honestly I’m scared to try.”

 

“Well, then don’t. Unless you feel sure about it.”

 

“Clarence, I think... I think Elizabeth is planning on selling our secrets.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Everything... all the things I can’t tell you. In the hands of humanity it could do unimaginable evil.”

 

“So what you’re saying is...”

 

“Either we need to find Elizabeth and convince her not to...” she trails off.

 

“...or Kill her.” I finish.

 

The air hangs heavy for a moment.

 

“Do you have any idea where we are?” I ask.

 

“No, but wherever it is, it’s not far from where we were. It was less than a half hour of dragging until we got to this room, and we didn’t ride or anything. I mea-”

 

I instinctively turn my head to investigate the pause. 

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

I listen, carefully.  Footsteps. Coming this way.

 

“Pretend to still be unconscious, maybe we can surprise them!”

 

Thinking quickly, I close my eyes and let my head fall to the side, quickly hauling my leg back onto the platform, gritting my teeth as I do. The door swings open, and even through my closed eyelids, the sudden influx of light is overwhelming.

 

“Elizabeth.”

 

“Lorraine.”

 

“Where’s John?”

 

“Does he need to be here?”

 

“Your muscle? No, I suppose not, he did all the work for you already.”

 

“Quite right.”

 

A sigh.

 

“Look, Lorraine, I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault you’re so... clingy.”

 

“What!?”

 

“You could’ve just gotten another friend when you found out that I was a traitor, but no, you just kept sending me letters. Day after day. ‘Elizabeth, are you alright?’ ‘Elizabeth, can I do anything?’ No!  Eventually I thought “Alright, sure, if I can have a spokesperson up there then maybe I can get some level of sympathy, but then I tell you one thing about where I am, and you’re all just like ‘I’m going to come find you!’ And THAT’S 

the thing that you don’t listen to me about. So when I eventually have no choice left I leave you a stupid note that just says “The city on the Salt Lake,” which I knew you wouldn’t know because it’s only been around for a few years, and because you wouldn’t talk to any locals, and it would take you forever I would be done by then, but THEN my stupid plan and JOHN’S stupid plan backfire, and the two stupidest people meet each other and go “Well let’s be stupid together then!” And ride off into the sunset on the back of the fastest horse under the sun for some reason, and make it to Salt Lake faster than we do, and THEN, on top of all that STUPID, you somehow manage to stay at the same hotel that our client’s staying at, and because you’re obsessed for some, stupid reason, you stare out the window ALL. NIGHT. Who does that? Why do you do that? Why would 

anyone do that? Do you have any idea the utter disdain I felt when I saw you in that window? That against all odds I got to see your. Ugly. Face. Again?” 

 

When her voice finally dies down, I can hear a soft sobbing coming from Lorraine.

 

“Oh, what? Did I hurt your feelings? You’re such a child. Did you not expect that if you kept annoying people every day that I wouldn’t come back to get you, did you?”

 

She walks right up to Lorraine, and grabs her by the throat.

 

“Well there’s one thing that you forgot. It’s the basis of everything that we do. Everyone gets. What they deserve.”  

 

I couldn’t resist anymore. My eyes flicked open, and I saw Elizabeth standing, hunched over Lorraine. Then, Lorraine suddenly quiets.

 

“There’s something you forgot, too.”

 

“Really, what’s that?”

 

“If you tie somebody down, you should check their apparel 

first.”

 

And with that, there’s a loud ripping noise, as the cloth of Lorraine’s glove tears. Her right hand raises faster than anyone, I think herself included, was expecting, and plants itself squarely in Elizabeth’s jaw.  She falls to the floor.

 

Lorraine, using the momentum of her swing to catapult herself, finds herself on her feet. Both hands free. She doesn't take her eyes off Elizabeth.

 

“Clarence! What do I do?”

 

1.  Beat up Elizabeth

2.  Free me

3.  Run

 

 

Days 21 & 22:  Escape

 

Results:  A-1  B-2  C-2  Conclusion:  Get me and let’s go!

 

 

“Just get me and let’s get out of here!”

 

Lorraine stammers around a bit, before bending down over Elizabeth, trying to find a key. But Elizabeth, over her shock, starts trying to fight back. It’s obvious that neither of them are very strong, but Lorraine manages to rip Elizabeth’s bag from her and keep her pinned.  Lorraine is rifling through the bag when Elizabeth starts screaming.

 

“John! Anyone! Help!”

 

Lorraine, panicking, shoves the bottom of the bag into Elizabeth’s mouth, silencing her beyond some muffled agitations. Then, she finds a key ring, with six different keys to try.

But, it sounds like the damage Elizabeth was trying to do was already done. From down the hallway and around a few corners, I hear a distant, recognizable, “What? I’m coming!”

 

Lorraine, hearing this too, stands up from Elizabeth before stomping her in the stomach a few times. I was incredibly surprised from the brutality she was showing. Evidently, she wasn’t one for betrayal.  She rushes over to me, and tries to turn key after key. She’s only tried three by the time I hear footsteps running down the hall, it takes five before I hear a click, and feel my arm loosen. She rushes over to my other side and quickly unlocks the other. I pull my arm free and up, and just about manage to put my feet on the floor before John rushes in the door. 

 

It’s at this time that Elizabeth also pulls herself to her feet, and lurches over to the 

doorway by John, holding her stomach in her right arm. John’s hand slowly begins 

to draw itself towards his holster.  Then, Lorraine just screams and runs at John. He whips father’s pistol up, but just before he fires, Lorraine jumps, and grabs onto his 

arm,  forcing his aim down towards the ground. The gunshot kicks me out of my trance, and I run at John, who’s starting to beat down on this small woman latched onto him. My left leg threatens to give out as I go, but I manage to keep it in check. Elizabeth rushes over as well, but before she can get a good grip, I slam into John’s side and send the whole pile toppling to the ground. 

 

The gun fires its second loaded bullet as we go, and I hear a womanly scream. I  manage to collect my wits just fast enough to see Elizabeth struggling to her feet clutching her side. She topples over backwards, giving harrowing screeches as she goes.

 

It’s at this time that I see the kind of building we’re in for the first time. I don’t get a great look, but I can tell it’s no slum. Vertically slatted, polished, wooden boards line the walls. Expensive wood, bordered with fancy sconces and candelabras.  John is struggling under me, and I see Lorraine getting off of us to beat up Elizabeth.  But Lorraine’s slowing down, and so am I. My whole body aches with pain. Elizabeth, even in her shocked state, manages to throw Lorraine to the side, giving another moan as she does. I begin trying to wrangle the pistol from my brother’s hand, even though I know that it needs to be reloaded after its two shots. John, however, manages to cling onto it, before landing a firm left hook into my jaw.

 

I stagger back to my feet, but, having not expected the weight, my left leg gives out and I fall to the side, managing to stop my fall on the wall to the left. I muster the strength to stand back upright at the same time as John, to see him holstering his pistol. He draws his hands into fists, and produces just two simple words.

 

“Come on.”

 

I look at him, with fright, for just a half second. Then, I see a bit of movement behind him, and give him a sly smile.

 

“You called me more adept at combat less than a day ago.”

 

“I’m not the one with several hunks of lead stuck in him.”

 

“Well, there’s one thing that the more experienced always have over their lessers.”

 

He looks at me, with mocking inquisitiveness.

 

“They know when to run.”

 

With a mighty yell, Lorraine jumps onto John’s back, making him stagger forwards. I bolt past him down the hallway, seeing Lorraine jump off as I go.  Down the hallway, there’s a left turn, and then a straight hallway with a stairway to the left. Lorraine, her leg wound being more healed than mine, manages to get ahead of me on her way down the hallway, and runs straight, past the staircase. I have to follow her.  We both rush through an open doorway, into what looks to be some kind of foyer. The room is magnificent and large, with tall wooden walls. Said walls are bordered with more candelabras, but hanging in the center is a gargantuan crystal chandelier, covered in candles, as if for a special occasion. To our left, a wide stairway leads to the second floor. This entrance 

to the room stands between the stairway’s right hand railing, and the wall of the room. The floor everywhere has a shallow maroon carpeting, complimenting the dark wood panels. But, now was not a time for complimenting interior design.

 

I heard movement behind us, and quickly slammed the door behind us shut. I threw myself against it, and Lorraine followed suit. But, the incoming fight was harder than I could handle, with my body in the broken state that it was, and as John rammed into the door I was thrown to my back. I hear a yelp from behind me, as Lorraine is thrown further. And then, I see John in front of me, slowly sliding bullets into his pistol. 

 

A sharp knock.  It comes again, from the front of the foyer.

 

“Open up! This is the Salt Lake City sheriff, we heard gunshots!”

 

John’s eyes are wide. He flicks them in between me and the door. His hand is frozen, halfway through loading the second bullet.

 

“You have ten seconds or we’re coming in!”

 

John finishes loading the second bullet, but in those few seconds I manage to push through the pain and lunge at him. As I hit him with my left shoulder, I hear, the sound of another gunshot echo through the room. And then, a lot of things happen at once.

 

First, the sheriff yells “Alright, that’s it!” and breaks through the door, followed by four other armed policemen. They run into the room, ready to fire.

 

Second, I feel a sharp pain in my left foot, adding to my growing collection of gunshot wounds.

 

Third, Elizabeth yells “No!” as John topples over to the right of the doorway we entered from. And right onto the winch for the chandelier. A groaning, whipping noise is heard as the winch breaks, and the coiled rope drops the structure with speed and ferocity onto the unprepared squad of policemen. Only two of the men are still visible under the 

heap of broken crystals, appearing to be trapped, but not dead. And the many candles leap from their places on the chandelier, landing on the very dry, very flammable carpet. 

It goes up like tinder.

 

1.  Kill John Thompson

2.  Try to save the policemen

3.  Try to escape with Lorraine

 

Day 23: Ruined by Fire, Taken to Hell by Lead

Results:  A-2  B-0  C-4  Conclusion: Try to escape with Lorraine

 

 

The fire twists and bellows, scorching away the carpet and lighting a bonfire of wood underneath. As quickly as I can think on saving the policemen, they’re engulfed. I call to Lorraine, “Let’s get out of here!”  I try to ascend, but my left leg, now with two bullet 

wounds, is completely out of strength. I pull myself up on the wall, getting ready to hop along on my right foot. If I try to put any pressure on my left leg, it would burst.

 

I see Lorraine for the first time since John rammed the door into us, about five feet away from me. She looks past me. I frantically follow her gaze, to see it lying upon Elizabeth, who’s slowly helping John back up as well. It looks like something went very wrong when he slammed into the winch. His legs are barely moving. My attention is drawn back to Lorraine, as she speaks, instead of screaming or grunting, for what feels like the first time in forever. When she does, it’s the deepest, most intimidating voice her little 

throat can muster. And what’s more incredible? It actually sounds threatening. She speaks with deafening clarity and confidence, uttering,

 

“No Clarence. You go. I’ve got something I need to do before I leave.”

 

Elizabeth, seeing this, moves away from John (who by this point had delicately risen to a knee,) and grabs her still bleeding side wound.

 

“Bring it.”

 

Lorraine reaches into her pocket, and gets out a small white ball, several inches in diameter. Upon seeing it, Elizabeth’s eyes go a bit wide, but her resolve holds. The ball begins to glow, gradually, brighter and brighter. Brighter than a candle, then a lamp, then as bright as the fire. And it takes on a hue, light green.A green that’s been burned into my memory.

 

The green light, it was her.  Then, without so much as a wind-up, Lorraine shoots 

forward, launching herself and Elizabeth through the door where we came from and 

out of sight.

 

I blink my shock away for just a second, before seeing John still working his way back to his feet, and beginning to shuffle for the door. Even the edges of the room were now becoming uncomfortably hot. The glass of the chandelier’s crystals begins to liquefy, the fire sprouting from the debris now taller than myself. Perhaps about the height of 

William. I stagger through the room, and towards the short, 8 or 10 foot hallway that leads to the door, out of the rectangular foyer.  With a heave, I pull my body through the air, slowly filling with smoke. 

 

Another gunshot.

 

A candelabra falls from the wall, lighting the entrance on fire. I pause. I’m moving so slowly that by the time I got there the ground would be covered in flames. Instead of trying, I look back at the source of the gunshot.

 

I see John, haltingly loading two more bullets into the pistol.

 

“I can’t let you leave.”

 

“I’ll find another way out.”

 

“You won’t. That’s the only door and there are no windows until the third floor. I know because I helped build this place.” 

 

“Where are we?”

 

“A place that was going to change the way things worked.”

 

“You’re saying nothing.”

 

“That’s because this was nothing until I came along. To the eyes of many, it’s still nothing. But I promise you it won’t be nothing for long.”

 

“Drop the riddles.”

 

“We’re a group of people who take from people who don’t need what they have, so we can protect the masses.”

 

“You’re... criminals?”

 

“Just a few for now, sure. But we’re highly organized. We have rules and structure and plans. It’s the way of crime for the future.”

 

The crackling of growing fire is all that we can hear for a moment. My mind reels, but I know from the second I heard that, that there was only one thing I could say.

 

“You... massive... hypocrite.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You destroyed my life because I stole, and killed, and whatnot, just to run away and do it yourself?”

 

“No, Clarence. The way you did it? You hurt everyone but yourself. Including me. Including Cassandra. The way I do it? I only hurt the people who deserve to be hurt.”

 

“This is what happened to me too, you know.”

 

“You wish.”

 

“I found myself the owner of an insatiable greed, and I let it control me. I let my mind persuade me that I was just, and kind.”

 

“Those are the follies of your character.”  

 

“We’re family.”

 

“You’ll see. From down in hell you’ll see what the world will see. It will take one slip up that a group like mine can capitalize on. Maybe an unjust imprisonment gets us a martyr. Maybe the government bans something people like. One day soon a group of people, run by a man like me, will seize this world. It would’ve been me, but it seems we’ve both hit the end of the line here.”

 

John stumbles to the edge of the stairway, grasping at the bannister and hauling himself up. By this point the room is nearly consumed in inferno, there’s just a small ring around the fire left untouched. Smoke is pouring out of the doors on the second floor. John reaches the top, at the same time finishing his reloading. I finally finish my thought, and push it upon him with fury.

 

“There’s no difference between us. The only separation is time,  the fact being that you won’t live to regret your actions.” 

 

At this, John laughs. “Then I am still your better.”

 

The fire begins gnawing at the ceiling to the second floor. John speaks again. 

“Oh, but I’m forgetting something, am I not?”

 

He violently digs his hand into his pocket with reckless abandon, ripping at seams as he goes. From its confines he claws, shimmering with amber light, a beautiful, silver, pocketwatch.  “You want it, don’t you. Even as your mortality shows itself to its gruesome end, you desire it. Well don’t worry. I’ll cure you of your need.”

 

He points the pistol at me.  But pauses.

 

“No. Father wouldn’t want me to waste a bullet on you, doing what these flames would do anyway. For what you’ve done, he’d want a much crueler pain.”

 

His pistol hand flicks, and there’s a bang. When my eyes manage to cut through the smoke and the distortion from the heat, the despair he’d called for was realized. In one hand, a smoking pistol. And in the other, the shattered, broken remains of a once 

beautiful creation. He takes his arm, and lobs the mess into the fire below 

him.

 

“I’d no use for it anymore. Though it could perhaps have given you solace. Speaking of, this gun only has one bullet left.”

 

He stares down at me, viciously.

 

“The fire is much more painful, honestly. I’d rather take my ticket out of here.”

 

He presses the barrel to his chin. Nonchalantly, he questioningly cocks and eyebrow.

 

“Anything you have to say to me?”

 

I look at him. For a second, every turbulent emotion I’ve felt since I’d known I’d finally see John again comes rushing through me, and I freeze. But I know what to say. It’s the one thing I could say. The one thing that I knew, in my heart, was right. I looked up at him, and, through the nearly complete haze, said one last sentence to my brother.

 

“I’m sorry you didn’t learn to be better than me.”

 

Our gaze connects for just a second longer.

 

“And with that final insult, I bid you a lonely, painful death.”

 

A bang.

 

A sickening thud, as his body drops, and tumbles down the stairs like a sack of bricks, before falling headlong into the fire.

 

And I’m left alone. 

 

With nothing but my pain.

 

My future.

 

And my doubts.

 

1.  Ponder  life

2.  Ponder death

3.  Ponder beauty

4.  Ponder corruption

5.  Ponder  war

6.  Ponder civility

7.  Ponder destiny

8.  Ponder charity

9.  Ponder eternity

 

 

Day 24: Peace

 

Results: A-1  B-1  C-0  D-0  E-0  F-0  G-0  H-0  I-3  Conclusion: Ponder Eternity

 

Some people say it is better to die young than live forever.  Screw those people. To have everything you could have been, everything you could have done, eclipsed by the void of mortality. I can think of no worse fate.

 

This world holds infinite spoilers, infinity masteries, and when one thinks to have tamed them all they may simply sail an ocean and begin again, finding a new land with new passions and new excitements.  The spectre of death grants us no time to try everything 

there is to see. It forces upon us a choice, try everything you can once or twice, or master one or two things. The confines of civilization, which have given us these things to master, show us only one path to success, for if you don’t master one or two things, then you’ll waste away on a street corner, not with the resources or strength to try to do anything but survive.

 

But the people who say that one shouldn’t desire to live forever talk about one thing, not the hundreds or thousands of years where you can try everything you want. Not those long lifetimes of mastery and achievement. No. They speak of eternity. In the face of eternity, the arguments against those people fall short, as do many things in this world when accosted with the pale face of infinity. That whole methodology is one I would have said a mere two weeks ago. Yet today, I’d seen my brother die. I’d seen my whole view of this world collapse. I’d seen a mind strained beyond its limits to do things it 

would have previously fervently protested. And most of all, today, I’d finally lost it. That thing that I’d been chasing for six years. That thing that had driven me. I had failed it.

And now I was going to die.

 

And I no longer had any want for it to be otherwise.

 

So I wait.

 

I wait with baited breath, as I watch the world around me glow bright. Brighter than the sun. I close my eyes, and let the crackle of the flames wash over me. And I think on everything I was, rather than everything I could have been.

 

“Clarence!”

 

My mind plays tricks on me. 

 

“Clarence, get out of here! Go!”

 

I crack my eyes open, to see the faintest hint of green, cutting through the orange haze.

And then it slams into me. I feel myself fly through the air, catapulted through the 

door, opened by the sheriff earlier, and from the scorching interior into the cold, winter’s night.  I tumble down a set of stairs, hitting my head hard. Not hard enough to knock me out, outright, but enough to make me very woozy. I land at the bottom, hitting a shallow drift of snow, and left, staring up at the doorway above me. 

 

Suddenly, peeking out of the door, is Lorraine. No longer glowing, I see her look down at me, and smile. From her hand drops a clear glass orb, which falls to the ground beneath her, bouncing away back into the building. And she takes a step down onto the 

staircase.  Before a hand grabs her shoulder.

 

Something is said, something I can’t begin to try to hear. A split second later, she’s wrenched back inside. I wait for just a moment.

 

And the building collapses. Shards of flaming wood surround me. I see myself encompassed by an avalanche of shattered planks.  And I pass out.

 

 

Rules for the final choice:  I wanted something that favored both participation, and perseverance. So, your choice here will count for the number of times which you have voted, when your vote wasn’t the one that got picked. This can be a minimum of 1. If you want to know how many you have, you can ask me in a direct message. Without further ado, here is the final choice:

 

1.  Am I a good man?   a. Yes  b. No  c.I don’t  know

 

 

Day 25: Clarence

 

Results:  A-16  B-6  C-9   Conclusion: Yes

 

I have nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m as poor as the man who stumbled into Arizona 29 years ago, with naught but the clothes on his back, but this time I had a few bullet wounds as well. And a suite of first and second degree burns. And a massive, throbbing bruise on my head.  I woke up to be told that the fire had gotten worse, and had spread to where I had been staying the night as well. I had lost my brother, my friend, my money, my belongings, and worse, my horse.

 

The stable was connected to the inn, and had caught light just as easily. One brave soul had rushed in and had begun flinging open the gates. He’s managed to get eight horses out as well before his bravado took its course and the roof collapsed on him. There were just over twenty horses in that stable. Alexandria wasn’t one of the eight. My revolvers which had been with my for years were left somewhere in the four story crater, along with the bodies of two people who were very important to my life. Part of me wondered if I should try to forget Lorraine and the insanity she introduced to my life, but after everything I’d seen, I decided it was far from me to call anything insane anymore.

 

So here I stand. Penniless. Friendless. Cold. On Christmas day. A few hundred miles away from the only place I can begin to call home. When a stagecoach pulls up next to me. I look around. There’s no one else within a few dozen feet of us, yet this stagecoach stopped right here. Right by my side. As if on cue, a man’s voice rings from the front of the coach, saying, “Well, c’mon then. Ge’ in.”

 

I think for just a second, but there was only one thing I could do. I have nothing left to lose. I get in.

 

“Who are you?” I ask.

 

“Thomas Edwards. The son in; “Edwards and Son’s Coach Transit,” the fastest coaches this side of the Mississippi. And you’re Clarence Thompson, right?”

 

“Y-yes?”

 

“So you didn’t order this?”

 

“No...”

 

He whips the reigns.

 

“No time to get off now. We’ve got a long way to go. Some fella wit’ a weird accent came ‘nd gave me a ‘ole sack’a cash t’ get you sumplace quick, but it’s still gonna take a day or too. Said it were ergent.”

 

“Can you tell me where we’re going?”

 

“Takin’ a short stop in Farmington New Mexico, said ye’d know whatta do, then, down the long road west through Arizona ti’ll it peters out.”

 

“I... in just two days?”

 

“Good ‘orses. Stung legs. T’aint nuttin they can’t ‘andle.”

 

I’m taken aback. Those directions... but who....

 

“Ouh, ‘nd a’nuther thing. Gave me sum packages ta’ give t’ya. On th’ seat there. Dunno what’s in’em, but ‘ey sure look fancy.”

 

I look over, and see that he’s right. There are three lockboxes, each a different size, but 

each constructed similarly. Carved from dark grey wood, with accented borders that look like red-stained steel. They’re each shut with a respective pair of simple clasps, and on the top of each one of them there’s a number, that appears to be stained into the wood itself. I take ahold of number one, about 4 inches long by 8 inches wide by 3 inches deep, and unclasp it. My eyes go a bit wide. Inside, there’s a bound pile of money. 

 

There must be $250 in here, and all in $10 bills. Bills that high were barely beginning to see print… As I take it in my hand, I find there’s a small note underneath it, written in beautifully crisp cursive.  “Money for the horses. The farmer wanted exactly $100 for 

them. Very steep, I know, but he’s a stubborn man. The fellow driving you also 

wanted $30 upon the completion of this journey. Again, a bit much, but as you’ll 

soon find out it’s the best service available. The other $120 is for you to keep, to get you on your feet.”

 

I grab hold of the second box. This one is much larger about 2 feet long by a foot wide by half a foot deep. I open the box, only to find myself equally dazzled. Inside, a pair of revolvers, just like those I lost in the fire, but with golden trimmings. To the right hand side, there’s a small box of ammunition, and another, larger box, with four Unio cigars. Same as before, there’s a small note at the bottom.

 

“These won’t replace everything you lost, but they’re those things that were most important to you, other than those things you can’t replace.”

 

I gingerly put down the box, and reach for the third one. 4 inches long by 6 inches wide by 4 4 inches deep. I unclasp it, and breathlessly pull open the top. Unlike the others, this one has the note on top, and it’s much longer.

 

“I’m sorry Clarence. There are things mortal men are not supposed to see, for it can lead to disastrous ends. I fear you have been a victim of such circumstance. In dealing with these issues I can’t give you direct aid, but I can, perhaps, give you comfort. You’re a man who’s gone through a lot in the past week and a half, and even more in his lifetime. You’ve lived many lifetimes. One as a delinquent, one as a dictator, and one that still has yet to be seen. Just six years ago I never would have considered you for such a privilege as this, but I have seen a man brought to the brink of damnation, and turned the other way. A miracle, as divine as the immaculate conception this holiday celebrates, yet created from the heart of man. Clarence Thompson, you deserve everything that has been given to you, including this. The one thing you asked for for Christmas. 

Keep making miracles, St.Nick”

 

I peel back the paper, and my eyes tear up, just a minute amount, as my jaw stays slightly slack. A beautiful, silver pocketwatch.  Just as ornately designed as the one which lay destroyed a dozen miles back. Only at this one’s center, lays the letter C. I stare at it. In its polished sheen I can see a warped reflection, and I understand. I didn’t deserve it. I still think I don’t. 

 

But in that reflection I see a man who’s willing to try to deserve it. I see a man willing to take whatever today, or tomorrow, or whenever else may bring. I see a man willing to put everything unnecessary behind him, and put everything necessary first. And I see it glow orange. In the amber light of the sunset.

 

 

 

A Star from the Sky(because that name had so much to do with the story in the end) was written by Griffin Ware.  With Choices By:Chris Kardys,  Gavi Rutigliano, Hunter Chicoine, Hunter Donnelly, Jacob Yoder,  Joseph Accetura, Kurtis Bryant,  Matthew Gerace,  Sophie Speliopoulos, Vito Rutigliano

 

Tomorrow: The Full Story (With Epilogue)

 

 

 

Epilogue:

 

After New Years an anonymous donation made the funeral of John Thompson an event. A man who made many friends and many enemies, his funeral had middling attendance. No body was found, and as such there is no casket beneath his gravesite. No mention of Lorraine or Elizabeth was made again, aside from in the stories Clarence told to his closest friends. Yet he never told one single person the whole truth, these insane ramblings were better left confined to the head of one man, and so they were. It’s both what Lorraine would’ve wanted, and what Clarence did want.

 

William Oswald Scott died before Clarence returned to his town. The villagers described a man torn apart by despair, who locked himself away. Lonely, with nobody to tell him to drink or sleep or eat, the icy claws of death took hold. When seeing that Clarence had brought his lost horses, they were excited that some part of William lived on, and offered him an apt reward. Clarence declined, and in fact offered them $40 in William’s memory, both for a funeral and to make sure that the town didn’t suffer. They accepted, but gave Clarence, William’s prize horse, Madeline, in return, as none of them could ride her. Clarence found her just as strong and able-bodied as Alexandria. His 

gratitude for this lived for years to come.

 

After Clarence’s return, his friendship with Richard blossomed further than it had in the years since John’s betrayal. They often went on adventures together for the money they desired. Clarence lived to see the name “Plague of Arizona” die, and in its stead rise “Clarence the Expeditious”, because with Madeline his work was done with more speed and grace than any other gun-for-hire in the West.With this name came more requests for his work, and in he only took jobs that he considered just and worthwhile. 

 

After Cassandra, Clarence never loved again. Instead focusing on his work. He never gave the world an heir to the Thompson name. In 1927, after having lived through a civil war, a great war, the blossoming of the United States into a grand empire, and 94 long, 

breakless years, Clarence Thompson finally passed away. At that time, his name 

was largely a relic of a bygone era, but his obituary still found its way around the country, and even in some places overseas. He had a private and a public funeral, with the public open to the press. His public funeral was home to near 300 guests from around the country. Mostly people from his many years of helping and kindheartedness. There was one elderly woman there who no one recognized. It wasn’t Lorraine, or even Elizabeth. It was a woman who had faked her death 50 years earlier, and had regretted it for many years since. As she walked past the casket, she gave a shallow smile, and placed a long forgotten wedding ring on its edge.

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