Marysvale by Jared Southwick

same,
except, she removed the stitching from my shoulder. The process
consisted of snipping the thread and pulling each stitch out one by
one, with the next feeling progressively more painful than the
last—though, perhaps it was just the anticipation of the sting that
gave me that impression.
    The next afternoon, Sarah decided to go
fishing, and invited me to join her. I looked at the small, ancient
row boat, sagging slightly to one side in the water, and
respectfully declined. The dog, who somehow understood what she
said, was already halfway down to the little vessel.
    Looking doubtfully at the boat, I
warned, “Be careful.”
    She smiled. “Don’t worry. I managed
before you came; I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
    I shrugged. “Your funeral.”
    She laughed.
    Turning toward the lake, she said, over
her shoulder, “Stay out of trouble.”
    I watched her row away, and then went
to check on Smoke. I found him irritable at having been left in a
stable for so long. He kept nudging and trying to knock me off my
feet every time I turned my back on him.
    “ Fine,” I growled. “Have it
your way.”
    I turned him loose in the pasture where
he immediately went over and tried to harass the cows. They didn’t
even notice.
    Feeling drowsy, I went back inside,
sunk into a rocking chair by the fireplace, and drifted off to
sleep.
     
***
     
    What was that noise?
I
couldn’t tell if it was in my dream or a reality. I
listened…nothing.
Had I dreamt it? No, there it is again
.
I kept my eyes closed, still listening. The porch squeaked.
Someone, or something, was out there.
Is it Sarah?
I had
no idea how long I had been asleep; but it didn’t feel long. Again
the porch squeaked—this time right outside the front
door.
    Wouldn’t Sarah come up from the
dock at the back of the cabin?
Experience told me that slow
men sometimes found themselves dead. I sprang out of the chair with
a little more force than intended, knocking it over, and sending it
crashing to the floor.
    I grabbed a gun from over the fireplace
and spun around, just in time to see the door fly open. Two large,
black pistols aimed at my chest.

Chapter Seven: Stalking the Stalker

    T HE guns looked just like Sarah’s and were held by a
dark-haired female, about my same age, who glared at me through
deep green eyes. She, too, was dressed like a man, in brown
breeches and black boots.
    We stared at each other over the tops
of our pistols.
    “ Who are you?” she
demanded.
    “ Who are you?” I replied
neutrally.
    “ Since I have two pistols to
your one, I’ll do the questioning.”
    “ It only takes one shot,” I
pointed out.
    “ If you’re so sure you’ll
win, then why don’t you try?” she asked, with what I imagined to be
the most threatening voice she could manage.
    Time to find out what I’m really up
against.
    I read her soul. She was confident and
sure of her abilities. She was also scared; but it wasn’t for
herself, it was for Sarah. She was also a good person and had no
more of a desire to hurt me than I did her. I started to dig
deeper, to pick more from her thoughts. Surprisingly, a veil closed
over her soul, just like Sarah had done to me not four days ago. A
curious expression crossed her face and the tips of her pistols
dipped slightly.
    Taking advantage of her sudden
confusion, I decided to disarm her, before either one of us got
hurt.
    “ Mister, I wouldn’t,” said a
young girl’s voice, coming from behind me. “You better just drop
your pistol.”
    I stopped and started to turn, so I
could see who else I was dealing with.
    “ No…don’t turn, just do,”
ordered the new girl.
    I flipped the pistol in the air,
grabbed it by the barrel, and offered it to her.
    “ I’d better not drop it; it
might go off,” I suggested.
    She bought the excuse and took the
weapon by the handle. Her companion came to her senses and
screamed, “No, Hannah! Don’t!”
    But it was too late. With lightning
speed, I seized the girl, Hannah, by the