Chapter Text
NOVEMBER, 1880
The Autumn sun shined above Hawthorne, bathing the town in golden rays. People walked throughout the streets, greeting each other warmly as old friends, colleagues and relations. Customers milled in and out of the general store, buying all sorts of items from food to clothes to tobacco to toys. A pair of workers carried in a fresh supply of moonshine, placing the jugs on the deck of the saloon. The butcher steadily laboured over a leg of a recently caught deer, the succulent slices of meat falling to the red-stained table. Patrons drank in the saloon, laughing and cursing so loudly it could be heard across the small community.Sheriff Leon Callaghan stood on the balcony of his office, a pipe placed beneath his steely grey moustache, his blue eyes scanning the town attentively for signs of trouble. But as usual, there was none.
Alan McConnor leant on the side wall of the saloon, the rough bark of the logs digging into his back through his thin shirt. A cool mist escaped his lips; a chill hung in the air despite the warm sun.
His blue-grey eyes peered from under his wide-brimmed hat, shielding his eyes from the light. His fingers fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt nervously, betraying his cool demeanor. A voice called his name. He looked up, his eyes widening and his cheeks flushing as he saw who had spoken.
"Miss Callaghan", he said, a quake in his voice betraying him.
"Call me Grace, you dolt", the young woman laughed as she delivered a friendly punch to his arm before leaning next to him, her light brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Alan laughed nervously, a smile spreading across his mouth as he lowered the brim of his hat to hide his reddening cheeks. Grace lifted his hat, smirking. "Don't think you can hide from me, darling", she teased. Before Alan could think of a response, she pressed her lips against his, giggling. Their mouths separated, leaving Alan bright red. "Grace, we can't. Your father..." he begun, before being cut off.
"Damn my father", Grace responded, her eyes narrowing, "Besides who would ever know?".
"Everybody knows!" Alan laughed. "Then I guess we have nothing to worry about", she said, her blue eyes glittering with mischief. Their mouths crashed together as she pushed him against the wall. Her tongue ran over his lips, which opened to let her inside. Alan's mind erupted in excitement, the sensation of her body against his, her tongue in his mouth exhilarating. His hands wrapped around her back, pulling her closer, as if she were a treasure that could be lost to an ocean current unless one held on tightly.
Just as their hands begun to explore, a booming voice echoed through the town as Sheriff Callaghan approached the young lovers. "What in hell's name do you think you're doing?" the Sheriff shouted. "Grace get away from him. Now!" he yelled, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Grace hurriedly backed away, a string of saliva connecting their mouths before breaking, her eyes filled with a sudden fear. Alan pushed himself up from the wall, his face flushed and sweat dripping down his brow, which creased in annoyance. The Sheriff glared at him, his eyes full of hatred, his moustache bristling with anger. "Get out of my town", he growled, "and never come near my daughter again". "Daddy-" Grace protested, before being silenced by a sharp smack, a red mark blossoming on her fair face. Alan steadied himself, looking over at his sweetheart.
"I love-" he began.
"SILENCE" the Sheriff yelled. Alan stood up straight, looking the Sheriff in the eye.
"Damn you." he spat, before turning his back, his hand brushing against Grace's for the last time. "I'll come back", he whispered, "I'd fight my way through hell to come back to you". The Sheriff's nostrils flared in rage as he watched the boy walk away. His fingers twitched near his holster, brushing against the wooden grip of his revolver. Suddenly, he drew his gun and fired.
Alan's shoulder exploded in sudden agony, knocking the air out of his lungs, blood spraying onto the mud below. He fell to the ground, gasping in pain as he crawled towards a nearby crate. Through the ringing of his ears he heard Grace scream and the Sheriff drag her away, barking orders at the arriving deputies. Alan unholstered his own six-shooter. He fired two shots blindly; both struck wood.
Bullets ripped through his cover, flying perilously close to his ear. He fired another shot, striking a lawman, a bright spray of crimson erupting from the gaping hole in his chest. The man stumbled into the deck of the saloon, knocking a lantern onto the moonshine.
The spark caused the alcohol to ignite, the flames erupting, setting a second lawman ablaze. The man screamed, his face the image of pain itself as the flesh melted off his bones. People clamoured inside the saloon, running out into the street to escape the blaze engulfing the building. Through tear-streaked eyes, Alan saw a horse throw its owner, the animal's eyes wild in terror.
Clutching his shoulder, he dragged himself to the horse. He climbed onto the saddle, screaming in agony as his arm bent. He kicked the sides of his mount and the creature, seeming to understand his unspoken command, galloped from the scene. Gunshots rang out behind him as the horse carried him.
Tears carved their way through the dirt coating his face. "I'll come back for you, Grace", he muttered through gritted teeth. "Even if I have to fight my way through hell, I'll come back" he vowed, the horse carrying him into the blazing sunset.