Chapter 52: Prison City [Part 6]
Cat's padded paws moved swiftly across the rooftops. Its scarlet eyes cut through the mist while its small black body twisted and threaded through the narrow gaps between the brick buildings. The sound of a horse's hooves rang out on the street below, its rider — Bonnie Jones — frowning as though trying to break through the fog obstructing her path by sheer force of will.
Her wounded leg still bleeding, her mind a mess as she tried to figure out exactly how she was going to pull this off. She could barely keep up with that contortionist cat, which left her a little further behind with every step. Farther back along the route, at the point where Bonnie's plan would pivot, Evelyn rode at a somewhat slower pace down a wider, emptier street. Her scarlet eyes moved in perfect sync with Cat's — it was no longer a secret that she was seeing everything the feline observed during the chase.
Colors unlike anything a human would see. An animal's sight colored by the secrets she kept to herself.
"I see him!" Thieving Cat called out. On the other end, watching the silhouettes of Scaramuccia and the coyotes through the thick mist, Cat leapt off a rooftop and landed on Bonnie's back. Then it meowed sharply.
That was the signal. Bonnie gave a nod as Cat launched itself back into the darkness of the alleyways, where its owner was waiting on the other side with an outstretched hand. The cat climbed up Evelyn's arm, and she passed quickly on horseback in front of the alley before continuing her route away from the area.
"I hope everything goes your way, sweetheart. Tonight, luck is on your side!" the outlaw called out. She raised a fist in the air, Cat looking up at the sky and joining her in the celebration.
Bonnie steadied herself for what was coming.
'This is it. This is the moment. I can't fail!'
For the mystery thundering through her conscience. For the innocent lives lost in agony and blood. For and toward everything her journey had begun for — Scaramuccia, the key to the gates of truth. The coyotes, the wall between her and where she needed to go. She extended her hand, hoping the jester would understand she was trying to pull him away from going straight into the sheriff's hands — though it was nothing more than a trap to get him into her own and interrogate him to the fullest.
Scaramuccia, cornered, had no choice but to pick between one hell and another — so he chose the one covered in beautiful thorny flowers. It was better than the hell full of coyotes, after all. He reached out and took part of the fate his cowardice had led him to. One second more and Bonnie had the jester in her grip. Capella tore through the streets at full speed, her neck swaying in short bursts, the reins in Bonnie's hands snapping with the motion. Her eyes on the jester's, her hand holding on tight. He was…
'So light,' Bonnie thought for a split second. Her hand hadn't even needed to tense to take hold of Scaramuccia. She quickly clenched her teeth and pulled, forcing him to seat himself behind her. He fell into the saddle and stared at her in disbelief.
The redhead — a potential monster in the making — had just pulled him out of the tragedy waiting for him in Marcus's hands. But there was no time to admire his rescuer, because behind them, the furious coyotes gave chase without pause, nearly matching Capella's speed. Bonnie clicked her tongue at the sight of the canine horde — but she refused to let fear take the wheel again. Even if she trembled or her breath cut short, she had power, and she was using every last bit of it.
'I thought they'd be slower, but somehow they've gotten fast enough to keep up. And now there are even more of them!'
She cracked the reins.
"Come on, Capella! Get us out of the city!"
"What did you just say?" Scaramuccia asked, terrified.
"We're getting out of here," Bonnie answered. At the same moment, Capella whinnied and surged faster. "In an open field, we'll have better odds of getting away."
"No, wait! What the hell are you trying to do?! Why are you coming to save me?!"
Bonnie gripped the reins tighter. Frowning, eyes on the road ahead to keep from crashing into anything, she said:
"You already know why."
Scaramuccia seemed to understand perfectly at the sound of that voice — exhausted, but with a trace of irritation running through it. Bonnie was being clear. She didn't beat around the bush, because she wanted to force that jester to understand. That was enough to drain the last of whatever strength he had left, and he could be heard muttering "I knew it" in a flat, defeated tone, because in the end it was all too good to be true.
Then, the growl of one of the coyotes made them both glance to the side. One of the creatures was close enough to Capella's legs. That was bad. Bonnie drew her revolver in a flash and aimed at the creature, shooting it in the head. The coyote tumbled across the ground, knocking into some of the others, and came to an abrupt stop as the bitter embrace of death spread across the ground in deep crimson.
"Now — you're not going to just sit there and do nothing," Bonnie told the jester without taking her eyes off the road. "I don't know how you'll manage it, but you're going to make sure those things don't hurt Capella."
"Capella?"
"My horse."
"No! No! Who do you think you—"
"Know your place, clown!" Bonnie snapped.
Those simple words stopped Scaramuccia cold. His eyes dropped to the ground with a faint flicker of something buried deep in his mind. Some conditioned reflex pulled his knives slowly from his clothing, keeping his gaze on the back of Bonnie's neck — a shadow of death lingering in his eyes — but he tightened his grip on the handles.
He closed his eyes and turned to face the coyotes. Still weapon in hand, Bonnie glanced back at Scaramuccia over her shoulder. It was there that she was reminded, in the most fundamental way, of the anger Victoria had always been right about. The memory of what happened those few days ago in Steam City would never leave her, and would follow her forever — but she felt like she could find some peace if she saw this case through to the end.
She returned her attention to the road and guided Capella. Scaramuccia threw his knives in turn — they exploded and threw the coyotes into disarray, though the blasts also spooked the mare, who nearly lost her footing. Bonnie acted immediately, steering her through the fear of the noise.
Left, right. Explosions, gunshots. They tore through everything around them trying to break free, and Bonnie felt a mysterious force flowing out from inside her. She glanced at Capella's neck, confused.
'What… is this?'
The Outlaw's Ballad was clearly responding to the act of escaping in pursuit of her own freedom — but she looked at Scaramuccia.
'Is it because we both have an edge when we're fleeing?'
Outlaw and Coward — the most eccentric combination of probabilities. The coyotes fell, the finish line of the escape drawing closer with every stride. Just a little further, just a few more streets, and it would all be over. Bonnie looked at the road. Thinking wasn't worth anything right now — what mattered was acting. She fired several more times until she ran out of bullets.
The townspeople stepped out of their homes, watching nothing more than a girl shooting into the air and a jester driving explosive knives into the ground as they rode at a ridiculous speed on a black horse. They recognized the two figures in the moonlight. The beautiful redheaded girl covered in blood, and the battered "clown" riding with her — and that image burned itself into their memories for good.
There where the people spent their days, Scaramuccia finished off ten more coyotes. The cold night wind brought the news to Marcus, who pressed a hand to his forehead in weary disappointment. In the pew behind him, Sunday and Rosa witnessed the sheriff's reaction. Things were not looking good at all. What appeared to be a flaw in the plan was enough to make Marcus stand up from the pew and look at Rosa.
"Take this — I don't need it anymore," he said, tossing the charm to the nun.
"But Sheriff, has something gone wrong?"
The lawman didn't answer. He was already heading toward the door before Sunday had even gotten his first word out. Rosa looked at the charm in silence, then turned her attention back to the Sheriff. There, she clutched the necklace and closed her eyes, offering a quiet prayer.
The moment he stepped outside the church, Marcus snapped his fingers — his eyes glowing, his shadow in the candlelight spilling from the open church door trembling loose from the world. His bored expression marked the end of the prison, and the mist, as suddenly as it had appeared, began dissolving into the moonlight.
He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled. His horse appeared almost immediately, and he swung up into the saddle with a single quick leap. His objective: finish the job. His obstacle: a stubborn outlaw girl who, even injured, had refused to leave Scaramuccia alone. Now her life was at risk — because she had pushed this man of the "law" past the limits of his patience.