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Morgan whinnied, as if sensing the weight of the man tied to her back was something she didn't approve of. Caleb climbed into the saddle and set off down the trail. Back through the quiet trees. Back to civilization. Back to Valentine. The fifteen minute ride felt longer this time. Every bend in the path brought with it a wave of relief, and a question. Would Sheriff Malloy believe him? Would this be enough?
The sun was sinking low when Valentine's roofs came into view.
He reached the sheriff's office and pulled up the reins. Several townsfolk paused as he dismounted and untied the bundled figure from Morgan's back.
"What do you think happened?" someone whispered.
"Good Lord, what happens to the man, full of blood," muttered another, backing away.
Caleb hauled Edmund's limp body to the office door and banged on it hard.
The door creaked open. Sheriff Malloy, gray haired, and tired looking, holding a cigar in his hand, peered out. The moment he saw what Caleb carried, his face turned grim.
"The hell—?"
"The names Edmund Lowry Jr.," Caleb said, entering into the sheriff's office and dumping the killer at Sheriff Malloy's feet. "You're a serial butcher around the three states."
Sheriff Malloy's face went pale. "You're sure?"
"Basement's full of proof. Lucky's Cabin, the broke down cabin. South of here, on the road to the falls. Bring a strong stomach."
The sheriff stared, then swallowed hard. "Holy Hell. We've been huntin' this bastard for years."
Caleb nodded his head slowly and said, "Well, Sheriff, you and the deputies better brace yourself for what you'll see down there. This sick son of a bitch ain't right in the head… and, well, you'll believe me when you see it for yourself."
Sheriff Malloy's lips tightened as he let out a low breath through his cigar. His face, already pale, churned further at Caleb's tone. The weight in the younger man's voice was heavy, too heavy to be exaggerated.
"That gruesome, huh, son?" the Sheriff asked, eyes narrowing.
Caleb nodded again. "It's hell in a hole. Worse than what I imagined, even in my darkest thoughts."
Then, as if summoned by their voices, Edmund Lowry Jr. stirred. The limp, bloodied form twisted faintly on the jail floor. A twitch at first, then a soft groan like wind dragging through dead grass. His head lolled, and his eyes fluttered open.
Edmund's cracked lips curled. "Mmm… name's Edmund… Edmund Lowry Jr. and you two… You'd best remember it. I'm a name that'll echo."
Sheriff Malloy's lip curled in disgust. "We sure shall, my friend. My, you're a real frightenin' feller, I tell you."
Edmund gave a breathy laugh, raspy and raw, like a broken accordion. "Oh… I'll behave, sir. Behave just as expected…"
It was a moment of quiet horror, the kind that slithered beneath the skin like a chill. Even the cigar seemed to die in Sheriff Malloy's hand.
But then the Sheriff turned back to Caleb with a different edge in his voice, firm, decisive. "Cut his arm and hand loose, son. I'll put him in the cell."
Caleb blinked. "You sure, Sheriff? He's unstable. We don't know what he'll do if we cut those ropes. A man like him, he doesn't fear death, nor pain. Might try somethin' wild."
The Sheriff froze. His jaw tightened, his eyes locked with Caleb's. A few seconds passed in thought before he nodded, slower this time. "You're right. You're damn right. No telling what he's capable of."
So they left the bindings as they were, tight and firm. With some effort, the two men hauled Edmund's squirming body into the jail cell, the killer muttering the entire way. More nonsense about friends beneath the dirt, about voices that hummed lullabies in the walls.
The cell door clanked shut, iron and final. Caleb and the Sheriff stood in silence as Edmund laughed to himself, curled up on the bed like a coiled serpent still tied tight.
"Well, you better behave," Sheriff Malloy muttered, one hand on the bars. "Don't you worry, I'll get you a lawyer, if there's any fool out there willing to defend you. Don't you worry about that."
"Oh… oh, how thoughtful," Edmund replied, and then giggled again like a child watching ants burn under glass.
Sheriff Malloy shook his head and turned away. He walked back toward his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a small stack of dollar bills wrapped in a twine band. He counted off the bills, then slapped them together and handed them to Caleb.
"Here's your reward, 200 dollars. You done this town a great justice, son."
Caleb arched a brow and looked at the money. "Such a generous reward, Sheriff. Thank you kindly."
Malloy barked a low laugh. "Generous? You just did what a dozen lawmen couldn't, son. That's somethin' to be proud of. Now go get some rest. You've earned it."
With a respectful nod, Caleb tucked the money away in his satchel and made his way to the door. As he stepped outside, the cool evening air met him like a balm.
The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, with the first shadows of night curling at the edge of town. It was beautiful, the kind of scene that might've made him stop, if not for the smell of blood and sweat still clinging to his nose.
He reached into his coat and drew the revolver he'd taken from Edmund's lockbox, the one stashed beneath the wooden table in the cabin.
He looked across the street. The gunsmith's shop stood tall and inviting. Warm yellow light spilled through the windows, silhouetting racks of rifles and tools. Caleb crossed the road and stepped inside.
The familiar chime rang overhead.
Mr. Dalton looked up from his workbench, brow furrowed in surprise. "Well, I'll be. Back again, Caleb? Thought you were headed outta town this morning. Was wonderin' if you'd run off to New Hanover or got yourself eaten by wolves."
Caleb gave a crooked smile. "Had a change of plans. Found myself doin' a bit of bounty huntin'. Ran into… well, someone special."
Mr. Dalton chuckled, rubbing grease from his hands with a cloth. "That's so? What brings you in this late, then?"
"I need your eye," Caleb said, walking up to the counter. He set the revolver down carefully. "Found this tucked away. Wanted to ask, what kind of revolver is this?"
Mr. Dalton leaned forward, pulling a magnifier from his pocket. He examined the weapon in silence for a while, rotating it in his calloused hands, eyes squinting behind the lens.
After a minute, he nodded to himself. "Well now… this here's a Navy Revolver. Real fine piece, .36 caliber. Cap and ball. Was a favorite among officers durin' the war. That grip's ivory, probably aftermarket. Got some weight to it, too. Whoever had this once, he cared for it."
Caleb exhaled slowly. "Guess I'll hold onto it then."
Me. Dalton looked up. "You clean it?"
"Just wiped the stains of blood off."
Mr. Dalton narrowed his eyes, but didn't ask further. "Well, she's functional. Just make sure you use the proper rounds if you're modding the cylinder. These old types are picky. You keepin' it?"
"For now," Caleb said, tucking the revolver away.
He thanked Mr. Dalton and left the shop. The wind was picking up now, sending dust swirling down the main street. The sun had nearly disappeared, leaving only a golden sliver on the horizon. Lights flickered to life in windows, the town of Valentine settling into its night rhythm.
Caleb turned toward the hotel. His muscles ached from the ride, the fight, and the dragging of Edmund's weight. But more than that, it was his mind that reeled, the sick things he'd seen in that basement, the smell, the blood.
He passed by the saloon, where laughter and piano music drifted from behind swinging doors. Tempting, but not tonight. He needed rest, not whiskey.
At the hotel, he greeted the clerk with a nod and made his way to the second floor. Jasper's room was quiet. Caleb paused by the door. He raised a hand to knock, then lowered it. The kid didn't need waking, not tonight.
Inside his own room, Caleb lit a lamp and sat on the edge of the bed. The revolver was still in his lap. He studied it under the light, thinking of the way Edmund's eyes had gleamed when he spoke to the corpses like friends.
Men like that didn't get made overnight. Something had poisoned Edmund long ago. A wound left to rot.
Caleb's hands trembled slightly as he unbuckled his gunbelt and set it aside.
He stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. Thoughts swirled like dust in lamplight. Edmund was behind bars now, but there were others out there. Always more trouble, more monsters.
But for tonight, Valentine was a little safer. And that was enough.
The next day...
Caleb woke to a soft knocking at the door.
For a moment, he lay still, his limbs sore and his mind fogged by dreams he couldn't quite recall. His back ached from the ride and the fight, and somewhere deep in his bones was a weariness no bed could fix. The knock came again, gentler this time, more hesitant.
He sat up, stretching his arms overhead and cracking his neck. Morning light bled through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a sleepy gold. He rose, shook out the stiffness from his legs, and then walked to the door.
When he opened it, Jasper stood there, wide eyed, hair tousled, and cheeks flushed like he'd sprinted across town.
"Morning," Caleb muttered, rubbing at his jaw.
Jasper blinked. "Is it true?" he asked, his voice quiet at first, but with a nervous urgency behind it. "Is it true that you're the one who caught that psycho? The one who's been kidnapping and… cutting people up?"
Caleb met his eyes, then gave a single, solemn nod.
Jasper exhaled, almost in disbelief. He leaned against the doorframe, his hands clenched into fists. "Whole town's talkin'! You brought him to the sheriff yesterday, right? Well, last night, the sheriff and his deputies rode out to a cabin south of town. When they came back, they looked like they'd seen hell itself. Pale as ghosts, carrying all sorts of awful things, tools, knives, jars filled with... well, nobody wants to know what was in 'em."
Caleb exhaled slowly. He hadn't expected Sheriff Malloy to move so fast. But then again, a killer like Edmund? No lawman would let that sit.
Jasper's face twisted. "God. You saw it? The bodies?"
"Yeah, I do, I saw everything. I hope you never saw such a thing." Caleb said, his voice was solemn.
Jasper entered slowly, eyes scanning the room, then settling on the revolver lying on the nightstand beside Caleb's bed. The boy sat on the edge of a wooden chair, resting his arms on his knees.
Jasper leaned in. "How'd you even find him? That bastard's been hidin' for years!"
Caleb hesitated. He couldn't exactly say, "Oh, I remembered from a video game." So he did what any good outlaw would, he embellished. "Sit. I'll tell you what I can."
Jasper entered slowly, eyes scanning the room, then settling on the revolver lying on the nightstand beside Caleb's bed. The boy sat on the edge of a wooden chair, resting his arms on his knees.
"Found clues," he said, sitting down on his bed. "Three separate maps, hidden near... well, near bodies. Gruesome stuff. Led me right to that cabin."
Jasper's face paled slightly, but his curiosity won out. "And then what?"
Caleb sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. "Then I went into the basement and unlocked the door with the code I found from the maps. That basement was worse than anything I've ever seen, Jasper. Blood on the walls. Body parts… stacked like firewood. Bodies hanging from hooks, jars full of... things. Edmund was waiting for me. Tried to ambush me with a knife."
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 2)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 2)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
Money: 973 dollars and 43 cents
Bank: 320 dollars, 4 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets