𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒊𝒅 & 𝑰 - A Billy the Kid western romance

Pretence

My mind is still racing when I hear firm knocking on my door. More than half an hour can not have passed since his departure. My heart sinks among my organs in anticipation of who may be behind it. Nonetheless, forcedly my body grabs onto the door handle, allowing whatever terror waits outside passage into my home. If someone has come looking for Billy they won't be satisfied knocking a couple of times to no answer, and would soon open fire. This type of monster can not be chased away by your mother's presence. Perhaps they want the residents of this house dead now, too, for having acted in Billy's escape. Word travels around town, frequently carrying news of the local gangs and the families they terrorise. Perhaps I have sealed our fate as the next fatalities at Lawrence G. Murphy's hands. Despite my inherent worry, some part of me however remains wavering whether they could care enough about my insignificant presence in the recent shootout to go after me at all. I am no one.

As the door slides open, a much shorter figure faces me. A young, seemingly Hispanic boy stands opposite the house. My jaw is firm, as I wait for a sign of what he may want with me. Finally, as he realises my fright, he introduces himself. "My name is Tom O'Folliard. You encountered my partner earlier. I am here to carry the corpses out for you." His short sentences depart warmly from his lips into the air around us. A steel revolver rests in a leather holster strapped around his hips. If he meant to hurt me, he would have already. I vividly feel the muscle tension  release. 

He reveals no excessive information. No hint whether Billy is alright or not. He, too, does not want me further involved in any of this. I can't help but feel thankful for their active distancing from me. My mother's heart would certainly shatter if I engaged with outlaws. Likewise, mine would break, if anything I did lead to endangering my brother Milo's life.

I say nothing, but part myself from the doorframe to allow passage. Tom enters and scans the room for signs of struggle. In contrast to his expectations there really weren't many. I walk past the nook toward the bodies. I look at them somewhat robotically, like I'm not really there looking down at them. Suddenly I feel sick. Everything is catching up to me now. I rush past Tom, right hand covering my mouth, and run out behind the outhouse. My body forcefully empties it's gut into the dry weeds. 

Once I walk back into the house, the bodies are gone. So is Tom. I walk back outside and gaze out toward the dirt road. It has gotten dark, but I can see him now. Two lifeless bodies dangle off of his bay horse's hindquarters. They are laid face down, yet involuntarily my mind envisions their open jaws and clouded pupils. Flies started to gather when they were positioned inside, and they are now attracting a swarm due to the horse in addition to the stench corpse. I head inside and begin scrubbing the floors, wishing to spare Milo the sight.

By the time Milo arrives home I've been scrubbing away at the floor for hours, and actually managed to dissipate it to a barely visible stain. The planks are relatively dark, which definitely contributed to this matter. I decide to only mention the occurrence if he notices anything and raises questions. Milo has always been the softer of the four young boys who spend their days out roaming in town. Sometimes they cause a little havoc, but rarely worse than tipping a bin over or breaking bottles they come across on the ground. In reality they were four quite pleasant young gentlemen. I steer clear of asking him what they had gotten up to today, since he would then be lead to ask me about my day. Preferably I won't even have to lie to him, if he doesn't ask anything, that is.  

The night passes. I lay awake for most of it, sweating cold, but it passes nonetheless. I attempt to calm my mind, to convince myself that it's over now and that I won't see any of their faces again. Then I catch myself in my own lie. I will certainly never be able to forget the faces of those two men, and I will see them again in my nightmares for the following couple of months. 

I walk out to catch some of the morning sun and yet again try to clear my head. Meeting up with Jane at dawn has been a habit since we were both 16 year young girls filled with giggles. The giggle has been missing for a bit. Ever since my mother died. Jane and Milo usually ease my mind but it has been long since I truly felt that warmth in my soul you get when you are at peace. She got sick, and from there everything happened so quick. She was gone in a matter of days. The burden of suddenly being my brothers only caregiver isn't easy weight either. I miss her presence every day. Maybe if only we hadn't been so poor the doctors could have saved her. It benefits no one to dwell in the past, but when I'm sad I can't help it. Otherwise I usually avoid thinking about her at all, I shove her existence under the kitchen cabinets and close off my mind from her stabbing memory. 

Jane is waiting for me outside the saloon, and we walk up a nearby hill to watch the sky shift in pretty colours while we talk about anything and everything, only today I don't have much to say. I listen to her talk her mind empty for an hour or so. That's when I spot it in the distance. Jane ceases telling her current thought as she catches a glimpse of the look on my face. Her coloured eyes travel the journey of mine out toward the horizon in silence. There's a chestnut horse. The same chestnut horse as the day prior. And upon it sits the same tall figure, Billy the Kid.