Chapter Text
1914
“You sent him to do your dirty work, and then you shot him like a dog!” Jack spat, lips snarling as he stared into an abyss of years of disgust and hatred.
“And I’ll shoot you like one too you little piece of trash! Now get out of here before I kill you as well.”
“I ain’t going nowhere, old man.” Jack’s unwavering words hung heavily in the air like the final words of a book, leaving only one choice for the two enemies.
The men prowled backwards, sizing each other up. Jack’s muscles tightened while Edgar’s shotgun dropped to the dirt with a clatter. Jack's hand reflexively darted forwards, fingers lingering just above the hilt of his father’s revolver, the cold weight hanging heavily on his hips. Opposite to him, Edgar did the same.
For a moment the two men stood coiled. Watching, waiting for their moment to strike. A pair of dark scathing eyes bore into a levelled glare. Jack’s fingers twitched with anticipation. Dead silence rang throughout the otherwise peaceful riverbank. There was a sudden flash of violent movement.
BANG!
A gunshot ripped through the still air. A cluster of crows hurried into the sky. Jack stared down the barrel of his father’s gun at the now crumpled form of the once great detective, Edgar Ross.
He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
What now?
Bitter gunpowder snaked through the air. Jack glanced from the bleeding body to his smoking gun, slowly holstering it. For a moment he stood, and with little satisfaction he watched Edgar’s blood stain the river red. All was still and silent besides his thrumming chest.
Blinking, he stepped back, slowly turning away. Finished, but somehow, deep down, unfulfilled.
That day, something inside Jack died. A door to an old life closed and sheathed darkness on all that was left of him.
With a cold, sinking feeling of finality, Jack receded from the only purpose he had. He noted dimly that his father’s revolver rested easier within his own holster.
Little did Jack know that his choice would set in line a chain of actions that would have grave consequences. A chilly gust kicked leaves up around Jack’s boots as he mounted his horse. The wind moaned in protest, calling after the cowboy who caused such disruption as he receded into the horizon.
"Revenge is a fool's game." His father had once told him.