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They burst into the foyer, a scene of opulent decay now marred by violence. The air was thick with dust and smoke. A Braithwaite cousin charged from a side room with a machete, but John was on him first, tackling him to the ground with a raw scream of fury, his knife finding its mark before the man could even cry out.
"John!" Arthur snapped, pulling him off the twitching body. "Focus! We come here to look for Jack!"
John stood, breathing heavily, his knuckles bloody. He nodded, his eyes wild but clear with purpose.
"Lets split up!" Dutch ordered. "Hosea, you with me. We'll clear the downstairs of this manor. Arthur, John, take the east wing. Caleb, you're with them. Yell if you find anything."
Arthur led the way, his repeater held ready. They moved down a long, dark hallway, portraits of stern faced Braithwaites judging them from the walls. They kicked in doors to a library and a smoking room where they shoot several Braithwaites, then found a parlor which was all empty save for the ghosts of a dying aristocracy.
Then, from behind a heavy, oak door at the end of the hall, they heard it. A faint, frightened whimper, beneath the gunshots that echoed inside.
John's head snapped up. "Jack," he breathed, and he lunged for the door.
It was locked. John threw his shoulder against it several times, but it didn't budge.
"Stand back John, and Jack get yourself away from the door," Caleb said, leveling his Pump Action Shotgun before shooting at the door. The blast was deafening in the confined space, obliterating the lock and a large portion of the doorframe. John shoved the shattered door open.
The room was a small, windowless closet, likely used for linens. And there, huddled in the corner amidst dusty sheets, was Jack Marston. He was clutching his knees to his chest, his small body trembling.
"Jack!" John cried, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and overwhelming relief.
The boy looked up, his face pale and streaked with tears. "Papa?"
In two strides, John was across the room, scooping his son into his arms, holding him so tight it seemed he would never let go. "I got you, son. I got you. You're safe now. Don't be afraid."
Arthur let out a long, slow breath, the tension in his own shoulders easing for a fraction of a second. He met Caleb's eyes and gave a short, grateful nod. The primary objective was complete. Caleb also relievedtat Jack was still with the Braithwaites, weren't sended yet to Saint Denis.
But for Arthur, he have another mission that wasn't done yet. He looked back down the hall, toward the stairs leading to the second floor. Penelope should up there on the second floor.
"John, get Jack out of here," Arthur said, his voice firm. "Get him to Dutch. Caleb and I have… one more thing to check."
John, too consumed by the miracle of holding his son, just nodded, clutching Jack to his chest as he hurried back the way they came, calling out for Dutch.
As soon as John was out of earshot, Arthur turned to Caleb. "Alright. Let's go find our wayward dove. And hope to God she's still in her cage."
They moved quickly back to the main foyer, where the sound of gunfire from outside was now sporadic, while inside was silence. Dutch was there, one arm around a sobbing Jack, the other holding his revolver. Hosea stood guard at the door.
"We have him!" Dutch announced, his face triumphant. "The rest is just mopping up!"
"There might be more upstairs, Dutch," Arthur said, not quite lying. "Caleb and I will clear it. Make sure none of 'em get the drop on us when we leave."
Dutch, buoyed by success of saving Jack, waved a hand. "Go you two! And be quick!"
Arthur took the stairs two at a time, Caleb right behind him. The upper floor was a warren of bedrooms and dressing rooms. They moved methodically, checking each one. They found several Braithwaites holding up and immediately killed them, there's even an old Braithwaites hiding in a wardrobe, whom Arthur dispatched with a swift, merciful shot to the head.
Then, from behind the last door at the end of the upstairs hall, they heard a woman's voice, trembling with fear. "Who's there? Stay back! I have a gun!"
Arthur knocked gently on the door. "Penelope? It's Arthur. Arthur Morgan. Beau sent me."
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of a lock turning. The door cracked open, revealing one of Penelope Braithwaite's terrified eyes. Seeing Arthur, she flung the door open and threw her arms around him in a desperate hug.
"Oh, thank God! I heard the shooting… I thought…"
"We're gettin' you out of here," Arthur said, gently prying her off. "This is Caleb. He's with me. We need to move, now."
As they hurried her down the stairs, the sound of flames began to crackle. Bill and Sean had evidently succeeded in their final task, the manor was being put to the torch.
They emerged onto the veranda to see the gang regrouping amidst the carnage. The Braithwaite manor was now a funeral pyre, flames licking hungrily at the night sky. In the center of it all, John stood with Jack in his arms, Dutch's hand on his shoulder, a picture of vengeance fulfilled.
Dutch's eyes flicked to Penelope, then back to Arthur, a question in his gaze.
"Found her hiding upstairs," Arthur said simply. "She's comin' with us. Consider it a spoil of war."
Dutch, his need for revenge sated and his family's honor restored by Jack's return, merely nodded. "Fine. Let's go. This place is finished."
The heat from the spreading fire was becoming intense, waves of it washing over them as the ancient, dry timber of the manor greedily fed the flames.
Just as they were about to make their way out, Hosea emerged from a side passage, not with treasure, but with a prisoner. At first Caleb thought it was just another straggler, maybe some servant or relative left behind.
But then the shrill voice cut through the crackle of the flames. She was screaming, her voice a screech of pure, undiluted hatred over the roar of the fire.
"You devils! You goddamn Yankees!" the old woman screamed, her voice cracking like an old raven's caw. "You desecrate this sacred house! This land's been ours a hundred and twenty years! And you come here to spit on our blood!"
Her gray hair was wild, streaked with soot, and her wrinkled face was twisted with rage. She thrashed against Hosea's grip, but he dragged her down the steps like a sack of grain, clearly having no patience for her theatrics.
"Oh, shut up, you crazy old hag," Hosea grunted, struggling with her surprisingly strong resistance.
Dutch's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, revolver still in his hand, his posture tightening with sudden interest. "Hosea," he said slowly, "who in hell is this?"
Hosea adjusted his grip and nodded toward her. "If I'm not mistaken, this should be Catherine Braithwaite. The head of the family. I recognized her when I was sniffin' around about their supposed gold. Saw her parading around like a plantation queen with her boys. Always kept herself tucked away in the manor. Till now."
Dutch blinked, surprised for only a heartbeat. Then a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "Well, well, well," he drawled, crouching down in front of her. His revolver came up, the muzzle steady as it pointed right between her furious eyes. "The matriarch herself."
Arthur, sensing the ugliness to come, immediately turned to John, who still had Jack clutched protectively in his arms. "John," Arthur said firmly, "get the boy outta here. This ain't a sight for him to see."
John's jaw clenched, but he understood. He nodded quickly, shielding Jack with his body as he hurried toward the yard. Jack was still trembling, his face buried in his father's neck.
Dutch tilted his head, his smirk sharpening. "So tell me, Catherine. Why'd you take the boy?"
Catherine coughed, the smoke stinging her lungs, but a strange chuckle escaped her throat. Her lips curled into a smile as bitter as the ashes around them. "You stole my liquor," she spat. "You stole my horses. There ain't no rules in war, mister. You brought this on yourself."
Hosea's face hardened, his voice rising for the first time that night. "Boys are off limits, you inbred old hag! What the hell were you planning to do with him?"
Catherine's laugh turned shrill, almost unhinged, echoing against the stone walls and the roar of the flames spreading inside her home. "Oh, we had plans. We were gonna give him to Angelo Bronte. A gift. An offering for a deal. He'd pay me enough to rebuild, to start my liquor back up, buy me new horses. That boy was my ticket."
Her laughter cracked into a fit of coughing as the firelight reflected in her crazed eyes. "Guess that deal's gone now!" she shrieked, a manic cackle breaking loose.
The heat of the flames pressed closer, smoke billowing from the manor's broken windows. The fire was spreading fast, the crackle and roar growing louder with each heartbeat. Caleb glanced around, weighing the danger. If they lingered too long, the blaze could consume more than just the Braithwaites.
Caleb, form what he sees, knew they had overstayed their welcome. "Dutch!" he yelled over the growing inferno. "We need to get this conversation outside! This whole place is gonna come down on our heads!"
Dutch, his desire for a dramatic confrontation warring with the very real danger, his nostrils flared, his finger twitching on the trigger, but then he glanced at the flames. Caleb was right. Always damnably right when it counted.
He holstered one revolver, grabbed Catherine roughly by the arm, and yanked her up like she weighed nothing. "Fine. But she's not done talkin' yet. Come on, darling. Let's finish this conversation out in the fresh air."
The gang followed him out, Hosea and Arthur flanking Catherine, Caleb trailing just behind. As they passed through the foyer, Caleb's eyes flicked down to the ground. His Treasure Hunter skill pulsed in the back of his mind, tugging at him like a compass. Beneath one of the floorboards near the eastern wall, he knew there was something. Heavy. Precious. A gold bar.
He burned the location into his memory, making a mental note to return when the chance came. Tonight wasn't the time.
Outside, the night air was thick with the smell of smoke. The manor was fully aflame now, a towering inferno devouring wood and glass alike. The sky above glowed orange, sparks rising like fireflies.
Dutch shoved Catherine to the ground in front of the gathered gang. She landed on her knees, coughing, her eyes wide as she took in the carnage around her. Bodies of her sons and kin littered the yard, faces she had raised, voices she had once commanded.
"No… no… NO!!!!!" she wailed, the sound tearing through the night. Her face twisted, veins bulging in her neck as she screamed again, louder, breaking into sobs that turned into shrill laughter. "My boys! My boys! You bastards! You devils!"
The old woman collapsed to her knees, her nails digging into the dirt, rocking back and forth. She was broken. Completely.
The gang looked on, some with disgust, some with cold indifference. Hosea crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. Arthur's face was stony, but his eyes flicked toward Penelope, who stood silently beside him.
Penelope's gaze on Catherine was icy, devoid of pity. For all the fear and trembling she had endured in that house, she looked upon her elder relative now as though she were filth on her shoe.
Hosea finally broke the silence, his voice quiet but edged. "Dutch. What do we do with her?"
Dutch's smirk returned, though it carried less satisfaction now, more cruelty. His vengeance sated by her complete and total destruction. "Let her be," he declared, his voice cold. "Let her rot here with what's left of her 'sacred house.' Come on everyone! To the horses! We're going home!"
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 3)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,814 dollars and 46 cents
Inventory: 103,988 dollars and 50 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, 2 silver rings, 4 silver pocket watches, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -