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What he was doing back in Strawberry, Arthur hadn't a damn clue. More and more, that became all too common for Arthur — washed up after a night of drinking his sorrows some place other than where he started. He was letting himself go. Hardly saw a point anymore, the direction the gang was going in. Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny — Hell, they'd almost even lost John. Would have, too, if it weren't for Sadie's help and the last strings of hope Arthur harboured in his dying soul. The sickness was slowly eating him alive, day by day. Felt it creep into his bones like the cold of the harshest winter and made him shiver when others would sweat. Arthur's time was nigh on the horizon, he knew that. Just didn't know exactly what hour it would take him. If he would have time to say goodbye. No one ever did — said goodbye, before they passed. None of the gang had the grace of knowing their life was going to end and yet here Arthur was, daydreaming of it, like a child dreamed of candy. Sweet; sought after.
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Today, he woke in the Strawberry welcome center still fully dressed and with a hangover hammering at his temples. No — he can remember, now, what he was doing here. He'd agreed to meet Milton and his men by the upper Montana river to turn himself in, in exchange for the gang to have more time to flee the country. He'd told no one else, on the off chance they would attempt to free him — knew some of those bastards still reeked of life but Christ, Arthur did not. Not anymore. He lifts his sorry head from the pillow and grabs his hat off the nightstand next to the bed; covers dirty blond locks with it and forces himself into a sitting position. He thinks: if this headache were a person, it would be screaming at him. He thinks: it will not have to scream much longer.
Sunlight was just hardly beginning to cascade through the window and onto Arthur's sorrowing form; made hopelessly skinny by his illness, and easily shaken as a cough wrecked his posture. Blood droplets spill past pale, almost purple lips; where they don't stain his skin they hit the floorboards and stain that instead, but Arthur bothers enough to wipe them away from his lips. Doesn't want to call attention to any strangers. Only to Milton. Back at Beaver Hollow, Arthur wonders who was awake — wonders if John had found his note tucked just under Old Boy's saddle. Felt too exposed, leaving such a thing by his tent.⠀⠀ ⠀
"John.
On the other side of this note I have put the location of all items of value I carried. There you will find $900 and some jewelry I have stolen. I tried to find more for you, I really did. But this sickness is slowing me down and I fear I should not have given so much to camp in the prior months because I do not have enough to give to you now. For that, I am sorry.
When you find this letter, get Abigail and Jack and get the Hell out of there. Take whoever you can. Sadie and Charles I know will help you. Tilly, too, I think. Don't bother to pack your things, just go. Buy new things with my money. I am leaving, too. I know we will meet again one day, Wherever that place will be. Take care of your family, love Jack like you have never loved before, and kiss Abigail like no one else can.
You are a family man now. I am not asking this of you. I'm telling you. Be safe out there. Do not try to write me, do not try to find me. I am fine where I am.
A.M"⠀
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Milton had agreed to meet Arthur by noon, and Arthur intended to fulfill that proposition wholly. With another stifled cough, Arthur brings himself to unsteady feet and and slowly makes his way downstairs and out into the cold morning air. Strawberry was cold in the mornings, sure — but not enough to make a normal man shiver and blow hot air into his hands like he was. Arthur thinks, as he hooks one foot into the stirrup of his horse and mounts: if God were real, he was a sadistic bastard. This — turning himself in, buying the rest of the gang time even if the most of them did not deserve it anymore — was the last bit of control Arthur felt he had over his life. And he intended to use it. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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Arthur meets little travelers on his way to the upper Montana; greets them only with a nod if he is to be greeted at all. He wonders: do they know they are passing a dying man? He wonders: have they endured the same kind of pain, that they would at this point walk willingly into death's loving embrace? Arthur had always thought death was the physical embodiment of hate; of destruction and of taking away what someone once loved. But he thinks differently now. Death is a lover. Her caress is gentle and Arthur can feel her wherever he goes, now; he was not alone because death never left his side, and he would see her more clearly soon enough. Oh, how he longed for her. Longed for her lips against his neck as she opened him up and spilled the lifeblood from his form. For, death was the only constant a dying man could have. Yes; death is a lover.
Arthur takes in his surroundings — the raven shire stalking the road beneath them with a slow walk, for they had time before Milton would be expecting them. Arthur only had two requests: that they would leave the gang alone for some time, and that if they were to hang him high, it would be out west. Where his soul was born just as well where it would die. Milton seemed happy enough to oblige. Seemed. But Arthur was not about to back down now; not when he would have the Western sun on his back soon enough and he could go back home, finally. Find out if there really was a Heaven or a Hell, or if behind death's door was merely an eternal slumber to lay to rest a soul that had endured far too much to carry alone. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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He reaches the riverbed soon enough; gently pulls on the reins to stop his horse, and he stares out at the lapping waves of flat iron lake. This spot here — it was where he, Javier, and Josiah had stopped a bunch of bounty hunters to save Sean's skin. That was months ago, now. When Arthur was still well and he genuinely believed Dutch was right when he spoke, and not a lying son of a bitch that he would kill himself if he had the strength to. Oh, the things he would do if he was not sick. The people he could save. Slowly, Arthur dismounts; stumbles when he gets to his feet, but catches himself nonetheless. "Go on, get." He murmurs to the horse — but it's so quiet and pathetic, the beast merely gives him a silent look. I said, GET." Arthur tries, and the horse flicks its tail idly. What was the saying — it was a straw, that broke the camel's back? "Get the HELL OUT OF HERE!" Arthur yells with all the strength left in him; falls to his knees and chokes blood and saliva into the sand. Finally, the shire stirs; trots a few steps away and seems agitated, now. But that wasn't enough for Arthur. "Don't you understand? I'm DYING, I don't NEED YOU ANYMORE!" He screams; feels the words leave his body like a weight, and he picks up a rock in his hand but he's too damn weak to throw it. The shire stirs again; trots further away and finds a point in the bank where it can flee. Away from here.
Only then, Arthur finds calm. "Mister Morgan." A fleeting sort of calm. Slowly, Arthur turns his head and sure enough there they are; Agent Milton, followed by two men, and back on the ridge there's a prison wagon waiting with open doors. "You don't seem to be doing so well. All that running?" ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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"No, I got tuberculosis, agent. It's real bad." Arthur replies; wipes his mouth again and helps himself to his feet so he can face the other man. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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"I assume Van Der Linde doesn't know you're here." ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀
"He wouldn't care even if he did. You.." Arthur pauses; breathes in a shallow breath and nods, slowly, in defeat as he exhales again. "You were right. When you saw us, at Clemens Point — he made me believe in things, weren't even real. Made all of us that way." ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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And that seems to please Milton, because he smiles. The kind of smile when someone says I told you so, and then they're proven wrong right before your own eyes. A sadistic sort of smile. "And if you see that now.. why are you trying to buy him time, Mister Morgan?" ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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"It's not for him. He's got good people in his mix. Good people he turned wrong like me, but I know they got good hearts, Agent, they do. They got a boy. I'm buyin' them time so they can get the hell out." His voice comes in rasps; interrupted by a horrible cough every now and then. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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"Always knew you were a good man, Mister Morgan. Come, follow me." Milton waits for Arthur to move before he does, too; falls behind Arthur to make sure there were no attempted escapes. Not that he would be able to, in that state. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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"Where're we goin'?" Arthur asks; but he doesn't much care if he gets a reply. Knows it'll all end the same, anyway. Milton leads him up the ridge and some lawmen help Arthur into the prison wagon, locking him inside. Arthur is compliant.
"Blackwater. You're due to be hanged tomorrow at noon, Mister Morgan, that was part of our deal. Your life in exchange for theirs." Milton speaks with complete normality as if he was drinking a morning coffee with friends — Arthur could only imagine the amount of men he's put to rest before, and come tomorrow's evening one more would be added to that list. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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...
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The Western sun on beating down on Arthur's back was entirely incomparable to the daylight out East. His feet move slow; hands are bound behind his back as he's led by two lawmen up the stairs to the gallows. For as long as he was an outlaw, there was always talk of him being hanged — and Arthur knew, deep down, this world would get its rightful revenge on his soul. That revenge stared him deep in the eyes in the form of the Blackwater residents gathered to watch his demise. Time moved slowly, now. Seconds passed like hours and it felt like he'd been standing there for days by the time they wrap the noose around his neck; tighten it so he can't attempt to run. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
"Arthur Morgan, a notorious member of the Van Der Linde gang..." Words slip past his mind like sand through fingers. Time — time was a damn funny thing. As cerulean eyes close for the very last time, Blackwater fades around him and he remembers all he can before his time is up. Remembers his mother and when they'd pick flowers together. Remembers Mary and how it felt to kiss her for the first time. "... Robbed multiple trains and stagecoaches, and murdered even more innocent men... " Remembers Eliza, and the unbridled excitement on her face when she told Arthur she was with child. Remembers Isaac — oh, Isaac — and those beautiful blue eyes that reflected the ocean on Western shores. Remembered the first time he met Hosea and Dutch, and how back then, times really weren't so bad. "...Is to be hanged until he is dead for the merciless crimes he has committed..." Arthur begins to wonder if there really were people on the other side. That perhaps, if God had mercy just once, he could see his boy again. His woman. All the men and women the gang had lost over the years. Well — he was about to find out. " ...Release the floor!"