The Pale Horse

First

Dusk had fallen amongst all of Bisbee, the saloons rising from their slight slumber of the day, and ready for what awoke in the night. Men from Tombstone, Tucson, Phoenix, and even Jerome came for the gamble and the ladies that gave them their carnal desires.

Madame Jane's girls descended the stairs of the Copper City Saloon. Most painted, some high, some blonde, some brunette, and some red-haired. All had a tale behind them or a bone to pick. Lana lingered upstairs applying her makeup for the fourth time. She was Madame Jane's newest attraction; young 19, plump, and recklessly beautiful, chestnut brown curly hair bringing out the hazel in her eyes. It was her first night and she would be booted if she could not prove herself amongst the other girls. Jane had found her on the outskirts of town, starved and in shock. After taking her under her wing, she found herself a prostitute and envied by the older women of the brothel. Her hand stood steady enough for her to finally finish her face without a smudge of blush in the wrong place. Staring in the mirror, Lana saw her sister in all of her features. Her eyes closed and she could hear Chopin start to play through her memory. Her fingers twitched slightly where they lay in her lap. The lace of her gown became keys for just that moment in time and she was home. The knock on her door made her fidget. The surroundings of what she once knew as home flooded away.

"Lana-"

"Yes, I-," she stopped speaking. Jane paid this no mind, as Lana's shock from the week prior had completely muted her for a time. She still did not speak much. She stood frozen and sat at the vanity, Jane's footsteps heavily fading with distance.

Chopin.

One of Chopin's nocturnes was actually playing beneath the floor she was on. The vibrations of the chords were strong, but sensuous, vibrating under her feet. And like a lullaby, they lulled her out of her haven. The corner of her lips pulled slightly with each dainty step she took. Reaching the ground floor, her eyes searched for the piano she had been avoiding ever since her arrival. It reminded her too much of home and she couldn't bear it until now. Among the ivory keys were two pale hands, fingering without missing a beat. To everyone else within the saloon, the music was a second to their focus, innocuous, and deftly hidden in the air around them. As the nocturne ended, so did Lana's trance. She could see who had been playing from a side angle.

It was a lanky fellow, dressed quite sharply without a tailcoat. His dress shirt was white, and grey around the collar with perspiration. It was almost unnoticeable with his red ascot. A dark grey waistcoat complemented the ensemble. She saw beads of sweat had formed upon his forehead as he dabbed at them with a handkerchief. Lana was still near the steps and knew attention would be drawn toward her if she were to reside much longer. She made her way towards the piano player, unaware of why or what conversation she would have with this man. Mindlessly passing the chairs around them, her approach turned him toward her fully now. His hair was a dark dirt blonde, a slight mustache handsomely placed above his lips. His face looked ashen with such tiredness, Lana thought she could see through him if she tried hard enough. The only contrast to his skin was the redness that lay just beyond his green eyes. He was sickly and beautiful with it.

Before Lana had the chance to think, a voice sounded from across the saloon.

"That was real touchin', Doc, now get over 'ere" a man yelled crankily. Everyone in the saloon hollered with laughter and the man's attention was turned to poker. His stride was unwavering as he started to move past Lana.

"Pardon, my dear," he said, careful to get around her and the few chairs. His voice was evidence of a southern accent that added to his appeal. Lana dared not turn towards the direction he was heading, embarrassed of the emotion that had enveloped her. Instead, Lana sat at the piano, trying to see through the fog of the former atmosphere.

Doc.

The man had to be in his late twenties to early thirties. He seemed known amongst everyone in the saloon. He'd won hand after hand until his opponents left in an abrupt rage. The rest of the saloon girls didn't bat an eye at this man or the hands he was winning. There was something off about that. Why?

Around midnight, Lana caught the eye of a cowboy who had come in just an hour before with a few of his friends. In a matter of seconds, she was prey to his hawk-like eyes that pierced into her more with every step he took toward her from his seat at the bar. She took a deep breath through her nose as he arrived mere feet in front of her. He smelled of whiskey and rain. Maybe he would have been considered attractive to her if the smirk on his face wasn't so smug. The two stared at each other until Lana got the message she was to speak first.

"Hello," was all she could muster. Her candidness did not seem to phase him. She took note of his sunburnt face, and wavy red locks. Despite him being in his forties, his blue eyes were as sharp as a young eagle's. He was in fact, a predator.

"You can't be a day over 20," he muttered, his eyes trailing down from her face. The vile orbs peered further down towards her cleavage. Her bosom was adorned by the soft black fabric of her dress. She forced a smile and shakily took one of his hands. They were rough with scars and calluses. She tried to ignore it as she spoke.

"You like a young girl in your bed?" she said lowly in an attempt to be seductive. The look on the older man's face proved her advance was successful. It was one of instant lust and sadistic gratification. Madame had told Lana this was the point of no return and where her price was to be discussed. The saloon was ablaze with booze, poker, and chatter, no one noticed when the man grabbed at her arm and pulled her with him as he walked towards the steps. Lana started to struggle against his grip and the man squeezed tighter around her veins. He was not planning on paying that night.

"Shut it, whore," he growled lowly at her. She gulped, knowing she'd earn nothing from the endeavor she was to endure. Her arm pulsed in the man's hold as he started to climb the stairs. Lana looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes as her lungs began to heave with anxiety.

I am still your child, Father. Please.

The whole saloon went quiet at a standstill. The red-haired man stopped before he could reach the third step. Lana stumbled back, her fumble the only sound heard. Her hand quickly fell from its trap. She rubbed her wrist, slowly turning to see what had ensued. Her eye was even with the barrel of a revolver. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked at the man behind the gun. All she could make out in her focus were the green eyes she had fallen into just hours prior. Doc.

"Would you favor me in steppin' aside, my dear?" he spoke softly. Without a moment's hesitation or even so much as a nod, Lana listened to him. As she did so, Doc's brow furrowed at the man on the steps.

"Be a good fellow and turn around."

The man did so, his hands slowly rising to the sides of his temple. The eyes of the predator were now weak, blinking rapidly, waiting for his life to flash. He had his own gun, but he didn't dare reach for it.

"I was just foolin' with the la-"

"No. You were leavin'." Doc's stance was unwavering. Just like that, the man had paced slowly out of the saloon as if every step he took could've been on glass.

Like clockwork, once the man was out of sight, the saloon murmured it's way back to its original grandeur of gambling and drinks. Doc's eyes followed the man the whole way out of the saloon doors. His silent seething calmed and he finally looked at Lana.

"You alright, darlin'?" he said softly. His eyes were like hooks on her soul.