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Description
Scarlet’s Freedom
Scarlet Stockton led a quiet and sheltered life. Never was she allowed to leave the house without at least one of her parents with her. The reason they had given was that their wealth and status made them a target of the less desirable of folks who would likely rob her blind, or kidnap and hold her for ransom. She loathed it here, especially now in her adolescence; she was now of age and expected to marry for the sake of the family who continually pushed for her to make her decision after countless introductions. In order to force her decision, she was given the choice of twelve individuals, all very influential figures who owned businesses and lived very comfortably. And while she couldn’t argue that none of them were by any means unattractive, and that whomever she chose would provide a very stable home and living for her, she just couldn’t bring herself to choose. She never cared for such things, family or marriage, and she had no inclination towards bearing children. She was a bright young girl; sheltered as she was, spending weeks at a time locked in the family library reading. Sometimes delving into anatomical books, other times history or even fiction. That was all she wanted, to be left to her devices to read, or write, and the endless pressure that was being placed on her forced her to clam up even further, thus furthering her stagnation on the subject of marriage. It had been two years since the courting had begun, and each meeting had revealed to her that she wanted nothing to do with these men. She had always been good at reading people and could easily distinguish between the selfish and the compassionate, and she wished that her parents – particularly her father could see it as well. All they wanted her for was her inheritance; perhaps he had known and just didn’t care, or perhaps he was completely ignorant of it. Either way it was blatantly obvious to her. Her objection often led to argument after argument and she had grown tired of wasting her breath, of crying herself to sleep of a night. Tonight however, she was resolved to leaving forever.
Ellaine’s nimble fingers caressed the window frame in the dark, searching for the metallic feel of a keyhole. The Stockton family had been a target of hers for months, but up until now she had put it off, waiting until the time was right. And with the dim light of the moon, that time was now. A tiny wire slid into the small copper lock, and with a twist and a turn and a gentle shake her lips widened into a smile as the satisfying click of success rang softly. Quietly she lifted the window and with feline grace and swiftness maneuvered herself inside. Muffled voices could be heard from the upper-floor, their sounds accompanied by the creaking of floorboards as a pair of feet paced back and forth. Ellaine scanned the room in the dark, her cat-like eyes able to make out the shapes of furniture items, bookshelves, a desk, a large book, a lectern and two potted plants by the door into the hall.
She reached into the pouch at her waist, its contents rattling softly before her fingers fell upon the item they desired. The smell of sulphur filled her nostrils as she struck the match and she blinked, taking a moment to adjust to the new light. The pacing from upstairs, and the voices fell silent momentarily, and briefly Ellaine thought that she had been heard. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when the talking resumed. The match she had lit was burning steadily, its sulphur tip was now little more than a blackened ball of charred wood. She stepped toward the desk, examining intently the book that lay upon it.
A ledger? She thought to herself as she unravelled the leather thread which held it shut. Well, Mr. Stockton, let’s see what you’ve been up too, shall we?
The match burned closer to the tips of her fingers and she shook her hand to douse the flame before it scorched her skin, but in a movement almost as quickly as the light went out a new match had been struck. She opened the book to a marked page – somewhere past the middle, its leather cover groaning softly as the spine bent backward. Its contents were dull, mostly records of profit from legitimate business transactions, expenses for land purchases and taxes, financial losses, and a short list of male names and a single female.
She looked up to the wall, her eyes meeting with those of a small girl in a family portrait.
So, a daughter. Her eyes wandered the canvas, regarding the woman in the painting cautiously. The woman’s face was expressionless, eyes empty and cold, almost lifeless. Her dress made of purple velvet with golden embroidery. Wife, poor bitch. She said softly, her voice more a hiss than a whisper.
She looked back to the ledger, studying the chart of names carefully.
The first, to the left in a column of its own was the girl’s name, Scarlet. She gazed back up to the painting, examining the young girl closely. She looked back to the book. In the right column twelve names were written, eight of which crossed out.
Ellaine didn’t need long to realise what it meant and in a quick motion tore the page from the book before slamming it shut. The voices upstairs stopped again, just as the stairs in the hall creaked loudly. Soft footsteps could be heard making their way down, too light to be a man’s. She blew out the match as the doorknob turned, and dove over the desk to conceal herself beneath.
Shit, have I been caught?
The door slowly creaked open and she peaked over the edge of the desk. The silhouette of a girl – or woman stood in the doorway before making its way into the room. Ellaine reached for the knife strapped to her leg within her boot, careful to be quiet in case she hadn’t been noticed yet.

Scarlet stood in the doorway to the study, staring into the darkness for a moment as she drank in what she was about to do. Her eyes hurt from the crying, and she breathed heavily, preparing herself for what she had to do. She stepped one foot in the door and struck a match to the wall lamp.
The light blinded Ellaine and she muffled a startled hiss.
Scarlet stared up at the painting on the wall behind the desk. ‘Forgive me, Mother, I can’t stay here.’ She said softly, and stepped toward a book case on her left. She remembered watching her father access his safe. Tilting a combination of books would open a panel, revealing behind it a giant combination lock on a seemingly bare space of red brick wall. She didn’t know the combination - not by number at least, but was familiar with the soft clicking of tumblers falling into place when the correct numbers were struck. Steady fingers gripped the knob, and slowly she turned it, recalling ‘counter clockwise, clockwise, counter clockwise, clockwise.’
She stopped at the first click. Seven. Second click. Five. Third. Two. Last. Nine.
She pulled on the door and it groaned defiantly, a musty smell wafting out from within, as if the safe hadn’t been opened for decades. She peered inside at the contents, a small wooden box adorned with a silver crest - two feathers locked together like cutlass blades, a flintlock pistol and several paper notes bound together by a thin strip of cloth. Her fingers traced over the crest, a small piece of metal sticking upright pricked her finger and made her recoil. She hesitated, but flipped the tiny latch upwards and peaked inside. Twelve rolls of bullets, six small, but tightly bound cigars, and eight gold coins lay inside.
Ellaine slowly peaked over the desk, astounded at the well-hidden safe behind the bookshelf. How cheeky, I wonder what’s inside. She watched intently as the girl retrieved the contents, most interesting of all was the tiny box, a prize she could certainly sell for a high price.
Her fingers twitched with anticipation as she contemplated how she would take it from the girl.
A sound from upstairs startled the girl and she turned slightly, Ellaine panicked and ducked back behind the desk, but realising she hadn’t been spotted she peaked back over again. More than the little box, she found herself captivated by the pale girl; admiring what little of her features that she could see. The slight curve of her bust, the roundness of her hips, the slight blush in her pale cheek and her long black hair.
She had always been a sucker for a pretty face and a curvaceous figure, and had found herself wishing that the girl was wearing less. She shook her head vigorously. Snap out of it Lainy, this isn’t the time for your fantasies. She told herself.
A loud thud sounded upstairs, and Scarlet jumped before grabbing the pistol from the safe and strapping its holster to her waist. ‘DAMMIT JOHN!’ she heard a muffled shout and darted out the door, blowing the candle out as she went. Ellaine sat still under the desk, waiting for her eyes to adjust again before she dared to move; knowing that if she were to fumble in the dark and knock the furniture her presence would no longer go unnoticed.
Scarlet reached the bottom of the stairs and slowly began making her way up towards the two voices. She crept up the first step, the wood beneath her feet creaking softly, the drumming in her ears drowning out her perception of sound. Second step, the wood squealed violently beneath her weight, third step, fingers gripping the gun tightly, careful to avoid pressing the trigger. Another step forward, now without thinking she crept, slowly as she went. Half way up now, the voices becoming ever-clearer as she neared the closed door.
‘This is getting out of hand, you need to call it off now,’ one of the voices said.
‘You can’t tell me now that you’re getting cold feet, Bolton. Don’t forget, this started with you.’ She recognised the sound of her father’s voice, but with an unfamiliar malice in his tone.
‘Scarlet has taken too long to decide on her suitor, I have played the sympathetic father, but no longer. She will marry the last man standing.’
‘So you’re content with her marrying a murderer?’ Bolton questioned.
‘We are all killers in some way. Frankly I don’t give a damn who she marries, I don’t even care if she takes her own life when all of this is done.’ Scarlet gripped her chest as the words escaped her father, the disdain in his voice cut through her like razor blades.
‘As I aptly said Bolton, you started this, you are a permanent player in this game until you die or you’re the last one standing. You signed a contract in blood the moment you put a bullet between Seth’s eyes. You can’t walk away from this,’ he paused briefly, ‘whether you want it or not, I own you.’
‘And Scarlet? What is she to you?’ Bolton questioned again.
‘A young woman, a conduit to joining two families, whose purpose is to carry on a legacy, to bear a child for her husband to carry on the family.’
‘You speak of her as if she isn’t even human.’
‘Should I be declaring her rights as a future wife? Whoever takes her hand can do whatever they want with her, I don’t care. As long as her duty is fulfilled.’ Her father’s tone became more spiteful and the pain in her chest became more intense.
‘You are a heartless bastard, John’ Bolton said, an intense rage concealed within his voice.
The click of a pistol’s safety could be heard through the door and her father’s voice grew more serious and Scarlet opened the door slightly to peak through the crack to see a gun pointed in Bolton’s direction.
‘You will watch your tone with me, boy, or I’ll put you down faster than you can blink.’
She pressed her foot against the door and forced it open, the copper doorknob hitting the wall behind it and she clicked the pistol’s safety off and pointed it towards her father whose face changed as he caught sight of her.
‘Scarlet, my daughter,’ he spoke softly, ‘what are you…’
‘Don’t!’ she shouted, her voice distraught, her eyes blood red stinging as salty tears began to form. ‘Don’t you dare.’ She cried.
‘You don’t want to shoot me, Scarlet, put the gun down.’ He said quietly.
Bolton stared at her, eyes wide with fear as he bore witness to this side of her.
‘Scarlet, I…’ he began, stopping as the gun turned on him.
‘And you! You knew about this and didn’t tell me?’ she screamed at him.
‘I…I’m sorry’ he stammered, before a shot fired into the wall beside him.
Ellaine heard the gun-shot and moved swiftly toward the stairs, eyes catching a glimpse of the dark-haired girl as she moved into the open door. Quickly, without sound she moved up the stairs, stopping at the doorway, she observed, heart racing excitedly as events began to unfold. The girl stood, barely a metre from her, gun pointed at the unfamiliar face, but the other she recognised well, John Stockton, a ruthless businessman. A moment passed and the only sound that could be heard was the noise of the house, and she wondered if the young woman had it in her.
Poor thing, she muttered to herself before stepping towards her.
‘You haven’t got it in you, do you?’ she said.
Scarlet stood, the gun aimed at Bolton’s head. ‘You haven’t got it in you, do you?’ she heard a voice behind her, distorted by the boiling of her blood within her veins, and the drumming in her ears as her heart raced with furious intensity. ‘Pull the trigger, end the suffering they have caused you.’
The voice was almost supernatural, seemingly spoken within her own mind and she thought her conscience was telling her to do it; that is until she felt a small hand rest itself on her waist and the barrel of another gun came into view from behind her.
‘Well, since we’re here, why don’t you explain it to her, hm?’ the blonde girl proposed, almost demandingly. ‘Can we get a volunteer? No? That’s too bad.’ Her pistol shifted direction between the two of them.
Bolton took a step towards them as John spoke up.
‘Whatever you’ve heard here isn’t the truth. These people have been gambling against one another, and killing each other off to win your hand in marriage.’ He said.
‘Oh please, don’t try to play innocent now. You’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Might as well tell the truth.’ Ellaine said, pulling the ledger page from her shirt she unfolded it and threw it on the floor. ‘I was only intending to rob you blind. But the juicy truth that I discovered is worth so much more than the money I could make pawning your belongings. Go on, tell her the truth.’
John stared at the blonde, defiantly. ‘If you’re going to deceive your daughter, it’s probably best to not write it down. Now pick it up and have a good look at it.’ She demanded, gesturing to Bolton to pick up the paper. Scarlet glared at Bolton who grabbed the paper from the floor. The shock on his face was evident when he stumbled upon the list.
‘You’ve been pitting them against each other, haven’t you, Johnny-boy?’ The blonde girl said, ‘survival of the fittest is it?’
‘And what if I have? Only the strongest and most cunning men survive.’ He spat his response, ‘and only the strongest will get my daughter.’
‘Actually, I don’t think you have a say anymore.’ Ellaine retorted.
‘Sorry about this, sweetheart.’ Ellaine said, as the black-haired girl turned to face her, purple eyes locking with hers in a brief moment. Scarlet felt a thud as the hilt of a pistol struck the back of her skull and she collapsed in a heap on the floor. Her vision blurred and all sound became fuzzy, a muffled voice spoke, followed by two loud drums, drowned out by the pulsing in her ears. She caught a glimpse of the two men collapsing before everything went black, and then there was nothing but silence.
Ellaine struck the back of Scarlet’s head with the butt of another pistol, the pale girl’s face went grey as she collapsed in a heap on the floor. A shot fired, striking Bolton in the head, and he fell face-first to the wood, blood began to pool around him. A second shot struck John’s gun-arm, forcing him to release his grasp of the weapon; its contact with the floor forced it to go off.
A snapping motion of Ellaine’s hands and the first pistol was reloaded, and another shot was fired, this time striking John in the knee and he fell to the ground, clutching the wound, moaning in agony.
‘Who the hell are you?!’ he demanded.
‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business’ she responded coldly, and took a step towards him. ‘All that you need to know is that to you, I am death.'
John’s face grew pale, a look of loss of blood, or perhaps of fear; and Ellaine licked her lips. She always loved this part, the contorted expression on a man’s face when she landed the killing stroke, the final gasp for air when she slit her victim’s throat, the pained look in their eyes.
She holstered the twin flintlocks at her hips and unhooked the knife from her boot and slowly stepped towards the wounded man who recoiled, trying in vain to escape her as he dragged himself back towards the wall.
‘A lot of people won’t be sorry to see you gone, and I have a feeling that she won’t either’ She uttered as she knelt beside him, gesturing to the unconscious girl on the floor.
‘Please, don’t,’ John begged, and Ellaine cackled maniacally. ‘Too late, Johnny boy.’ She retorted and slid the knife along his throat. She watched as he struggled to breathe, as the colour in his eyes began to fade, deeply satisfied that the last thing that they would catch a glimpse of was her bright read smirk, and the coolness of her own blue eyes. His struggling stopped, and his arms grew limp as his hands loosed their grip around the open wound across his throat and Ellaine stood, turning to face the young girl on the floor, before stepping towards Bolton’s lifeless body to retrieve the crumpled paper which was balled up in his fist. She unravelled it and turned it over and dipped a finger in his blood and scribbled a note on the back of the page.
‘When you wake, I’ll be gone. Come find me. ~L~’
She placed the note by the girl’s face, bolted down the stairs and jumped out the open window to disappear into the night.
Scarlet’s eyes opened slowly and her hand moved sluggishly to the back of her head. She sat up, blinking away the fuzziness in her vision and scanned the room, her every muscle ached, her head sore from the blow to the base of her skull. It took a moment, but she remembered a blonde-haired girl with bright blue eyes confronting her father and Bolton, and after that a distorted sound, like muffled gunfire. She looked up to see the two lifeless bodies on the floor, one with a single wound to his head, a hole in the wall behind where he was standing, the other, two gun wounds and a straight cut along his throat, eyes open, but void of colour. She felt…she didn’t know how she felt, whatever it was, it wasn’t sorrow or grief, but almost as if a weight had been lifted from her. She moved to push herself up off the floor, her hand falling upon the note written in blood by her side.
‘When you wake, I’ll be gone. Come fine me. ~L~’
She stared at the note for a moment, pondering the meaning behind it before tucking it into her blouse and retrieving the pistol from her other side to slide it into the holster. Slowly she rose off the floor and turned to the door, looking back only for a moment, to bid her dead father one last farewell before walking away. She gripped the rail of the stairs, still shaky as she wobbled slowly down towards the front door.
She stopped, placed a finger to the chain lock on the door to unlatch it and pulled it open. She blinked rapidly as sunlight poured in, blinding her momentarily, and she breathed in the smell of the warm morning air, greeting the world outside, a world that was now hers to explore as she pleased. She hesitated as she adopted this new freedom, drew in one final breath of the familiar varnish scented house, and took her first step out the door onto the cobblestone path outside. It felt strange beneath her flat shoes, she was used to the feel of wood, or thick carpet beneath her feet. She didn’t know where she would go, but her objective became clear, to find the blonde-haired girl – whether to thank her, or to ask her why she did what she had done, she didn’t know. And so, her search began.

Description
Scarlet’s Freedom
Scarlet Stockton led a quiet and sheltered life. Never was she allowed to leave the house without at least one of her parents with her. The reason they had given was that their wealth and status made them a target of the less desirable of folks who would likely rob her blind, or kidnap and hold her for ransom. She loathed it here, especially now in her adolescence; she was now of age and expected to marry for the sake of the family who continually pushed for her to make her decision after countless introductions. In order to force her decision, she was given the choice of twelve individuals, all very influential figures who owned businesses and lived very comfortably. And while she couldn’t argue that none of them were by any means unattractive, and that whomever she chose would provide a very stable home and living for her, she just couldn’t bring herself to choose. She never cared for such things, family or marriage, and she had no inclination towards bearing children. She was a bright young girl; sheltered as she was, spending weeks at a time locked in the family library reading. Sometimes delving into anatomical books, other times history or even fiction. That was all she wanted, to be left to her devices to read, or write, and the endless pressure that was being placed on her forced her to clam up even further, thus furthering her stagnation on the subject of marriage. It had been two years since the courting had begun, and each meeting had revealed to her that she wanted nothing to do with these men. She had always been good at reading people and could easily distinguish between the selfish and the compassionate, and she wished that her parents – particularly her father could see it as well. All they wanted her for was her inheritance; perhaps he had known and just didn’t care, or perhaps he was completely ignorant of it. Either way it was blatantly obvious to her. Her objection often led to argument after argument and she had grown tired of wasting her breath, of crying herself to sleep of a night. Tonight however, she was resolved to leaving forever.
Ellaine’s nimble fingers caressed the window frame in the dark, searching for the metallic feel of a keyhole. The Stockton family had been a target of hers for months, but up until now she had put it off, waiting until the time was right. And with the dim light of the moon, that time was now. A tiny wire slid into the small copper lock, and with a twist and a turn and a gentle shake her lips widened into a smile as the satisfying click of success rang softly. Quietly she lifted the window and with feline grace and swiftness maneuvered herself inside. Muffled voices could be heard from the upper-floor, their sounds accompanied by the creaking of floorboards as a pair of feet paced back and forth. Ellaine scanned the room in the dark, her cat-like eyes able to make out the shapes of furniture items, bookshelves, a desk, a large book, a lectern and two potted plants by the door into the hall.
She reached into the pouch at her waist, its contents rattling softly before her fingers fell upon the item they desired. The smell of sulphur filled her nostrils as she struck the match and she blinked, taking a moment to adjust to the new light. The pacing from upstairs, and the voices fell silent momentarily, and briefly Ellaine thought that she had been heard. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when the talking resumed. The match she had lit was burning steadily, its sulphur tip was now little more than a blackened ball of charred wood. She stepped toward the desk, examining intently the book that lay upon it.
A ledger? She thought to herself as she unravelled the leather thread which held it shut. Well, Mr. Stockton, let’s see what you’ve been up too, shall we?
The match burned closer to the tips of her fingers and she shook her hand to douse the flame before it scorched her skin, but in a movement almost as quickly as the light went out a new match had been struck. She opened the book to a marked page – somewhere past the middle, its leather cover groaning softly as the spine bent backward. Its contents were dull, mostly records of profit from legitimate business transactions, expenses for land purchases and taxes, financial losses, and a short list of male names and a single female.
She looked up to the wall, her eyes meeting with those of a small girl in a family portrait.
So, a daughter. Her eyes wandered the canvas, regarding the woman in the painting cautiously. The woman’s face was expressionless, eyes empty and cold, almost lifeless. Her dress made of purple velvet with golden embroidery. Wife, poor bitch. She said softly, her voice more a hiss than a whisper.
She looked back to the ledger, studying the chart of names carefully.
The first, to the left in a column of its own was the girl’s name, Scarlet. She gazed back up to the painting, examining the young girl closely. She looked back to the book. In the right column twelve names were written, eight of which crossed out.
Ellaine didn’t need long to realise what it meant and in a quick motion tore the page from the book before slamming it shut. The voices upstairs stopped again, just as the stairs in the hall creaked loudly. Soft footsteps could be heard making their way down, too light to be a man’s. She blew out the match as the doorknob turned, and dove over the desk to conceal herself beneath.
Shit, have I been caught?
The door slowly creaked open and she peaked over the edge of the desk. The silhouette of a girl – or woman stood in the doorway before making its way into the room. Ellaine reached for the knife strapped to her leg within her boot, careful to be quiet in case she hadn’t been noticed yet.

Scarlet stood in the doorway to the study, staring into the darkness for a moment as she drank in what she was about to do. Her eyes hurt from the crying, and she breathed heavily, preparing herself for what she had to do. She stepped one foot in the door and struck a match to the wall lamp.
The light blinded Ellaine and she muffled a startled hiss.
Scarlet stared up at the painting on the wall behind the desk. ‘Forgive me, Mother, I can’t stay here.’ She said softly, and stepped toward a book case on her left. She remembered watching her father access his safe. Tilting a combination of books would open a panel, revealing behind it a giant combination lock on a seemingly bare space of red brick wall. She didn’t know the combination - not by number at least, but was familiar with the soft clicking of tumblers falling into place when the correct numbers were struck. Steady fingers gripped the knob, and slowly she turned it, recalling ‘counter clockwise, clockwise, counter clockwise, clockwise.’
She stopped at the first click. Seven. Second click. Five. Third. Two. Last. Nine.
She pulled on the door and it groaned defiantly, a musty smell wafting out from within, as if the safe hadn’t been opened for decades. She peered inside at the contents, a small wooden box adorned with a silver crest - two feathers locked together like cutlass blades, a flintlock pistol and several paper notes bound together by a thin strip of cloth. Her fingers traced over the crest, a small piece of metal sticking upright pricked her finger and made her recoil. She hesitated, but flipped the tiny latch upwards and peaked inside. Twelve rolls of bullets, six small, but tightly bound cigars, and eight gold coins lay inside.
Ellaine slowly peaked over the desk, astounded at the well-hidden safe behind the bookshelf. How cheeky, I wonder what’s inside. She watched intently as the girl retrieved the contents, most interesting of all was the tiny box, a prize she could certainly sell for a high price.
Her fingers twitched with anticipation as she contemplated how she would take it from the girl.
A sound from upstairs startled the girl and she turned slightly, Ellaine panicked and ducked back behind the desk, but realising she hadn’t been spotted she peaked back over again. More than the little box, she found herself captivated by the pale girl; admiring what little of her features that she could see. The slight curve of her bust, the roundness of her hips, the slight blush in her pale cheek and her long black hair.
She had always been a sucker for a pretty face and a curvaceous figure, and had found herself wishing that the girl was wearing less. She shook her head vigorously. Snap out of it Lainy, this isn’t the time for your fantasies. She told herself.
A loud thud sounded upstairs, and Scarlet jumped before grabbing the pistol from the safe and strapping its holster to her waist. ‘DAMMIT JOHN!’ she heard a muffled shout and darted out the door, blowing the candle out as she went. Ellaine sat still under the desk, waiting for her eyes to adjust again before she dared to move; knowing that if she were to fumble in the dark and knock the furniture her presence would no longer go unnoticed.
Scarlet reached the bottom of the stairs and slowly began making her way up towards the two voices. She crept up the first step, the wood beneath her feet creaking softly, the drumming in her ears drowning out her perception of sound. Second step, the wood squealed violently beneath her weight, third step, fingers gripping the gun tightly, careful to avoid pressing the trigger. Another step forward, now without thinking she crept, slowly as she went. Half way up now, the voices becoming ever-clearer as she neared the closed door.
‘This is getting out of hand, you need to call it off now,’ one of the voices said.
‘You can’t tell me now that you’re getting cold feet, Bolton. Don’t forget, this started with you.’ She recognised the sound of her father’s voice, but with an unfamiliar malice in his tone.
‘Scarlet has taken too long to decide on her suitor, I have played the sympathetic father, but no longer. She will marry the last man standing.’
‘So you’re content with her marrying a murderer?’ Bolton questioned.
‘We are all killers in some way. Frankly I don’t give a damn who she marries, I don’t even care if she takes her own life when all of this is done.’ Scarlet gripped her chest as the words escaped her father, the disdain in his voice cut through her like razor blades.
‘As I aptly said Bolton, you started this, you are a permanent player in this game until you die or you’re the last one standing. You signed a contract in blood the moment you put a bullet between Seth’s eyes. You can’t walk away from this,’ he paused briefly, ‘whether you want it or not, I own you.’
‘And Scarlet? What is she to you?’ Bolton questioned again.
‘A young woman, a conduit to joining two families, whose purpose is to carry on a legacy, to bear a child for her husband to carry on the family.’
‘You speak of her as if she isn’t even human.’
‘Should I be declaring her rights as a future wife? Whoever takes her hand can do whatever they want with her, I don’t care. As long as her duty is fulfilled.’ Her father’s tone became more spiteful and the pain in her chest became more intense.
‘You are a heartless bastard, John’ Bolton said, an intense rage concealed within his voice.
The click of a pistol’s safety could be heard through the door and her father’s voice grew more serious and Scarlet opened the door slightly to peak through the crack to see a gun pointed in Bolton’s direction.
‘You will watch your tone with me, boy, or I’ll put you down faster than you can blink.’
She pressed her foot against the door and forced it open, the copper doorknob hitting the wall behind it and she clicked the pistol’s safety off and pointed it towards her father whose face changed as he caught sight of her.
‘Scarlet, my daughter,’ he spoke softly, ‘what are you…’
‘Don’t!’ she shouted, her voice distraught, her eyes blood red stinging as salty tears began to form. ‘Don’t you dare.’ She cried.
‘You don’t want to shoot me, Scarlet, put the gun down.’ He said quietly.
Bolton stared at her, eyes wide with fear as he bore witness to this side of her.
‘Scarlet, I…’ he began, stopping as the gun turned on him.
‘And you! You knew about this and didn’t tell me?’ she screamed at him.
‘I…I’m sorry’ he stammered, before a shot fired into the wall beside him.
Ellaine heard the gun-shot and moved swiftly toward the stairs, eyes catching a glimpse of the dark-haired girl as she moved into the open door. Quickly, without sound she moved up the stairs, stopping at the doorway, she observed, heart racing excitedly as events began to unfold. The girl stood, barely a metre from her, gun pointed at the unfamiliar face, but the other she recognised well, John Stockton, a ruthless businessman. A moment passed and the only sound that could be heard was the noise of the house, and she wondered if the young woman had it in her.
Poor thing, she muttered to herself before stepping towards her.
‘You haven’t got it in you, do you?’ she said.
Scarlet stood, the gun aimed at Bolton’s head. ‘You haven’t got it in you, do you?’ she heard a voice behind her, distorted by the boiling of her blood within her veins, and the drumming in her ears as her heart raced with furious intensity. ‘Pull the trigger, end the suffering they have caused you.’
The voice was almost supernatural, seemingly spoken within her own mind and she thought her conscience was telling her to do it; that is until she felt a small hand rest itself on her waist and the barrel of another gun came into view from behind her.
‘Well, since we’re here, why don’t you explain it to her, hm?’ the blonde girl proposed, almost demandingly. ‘Can we get a volunteer? No? That’s too bad.’ Her pistol shifted direction between the two of them.
Bolton took a step towards them as John spoke up.
‘Whatever you’ve heard here isn’t the truth. These people have been gambling against one another, and killing each other off to win your hand in marriage.’ He said.
‘Oh please, don’t try to play innocent now. You’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Might as well tell the truth.’ Ellaine said, pulling the ledger page from her shirt she unfolded it and threw it on the floor. ‘I was only intending to rob you blind. But the juicy truth that I discovered is worth so much more than the money I could make pawning your belongings. Go on, tell her the truth.’
John stared at the blonde, defiantly. ‘If you’re going to deceive your daughter, it’s probably best to not write it down. Now pick it up and have a good look at it.’ She demanded, gesturing to Bolton to pick up the paper. Scarlet glared at Bolton who grabbed the paper from the floor. The shock on his face was evident when he stumbled upon the list.
‘You’ve been pitting them against each other, haven’t you, Johnny-boy?’ The blonde girl said, ‘survival of the fittest is it?’
‘And what if I have? Only the strongest and most cunning men survive.’ He spat his response, ‘and only the strongest will get my daughter.’
‘Actually, I don’t think you have a say anymore.’ Ellaine retorted.
‘Sorry about this, sweetheart.’ Ellaine said, as the black-haired girl turned to face her, purple eyes locking with hers in a brief moment. Scarlet felt a thud as the hilt of a pistol struck the back of her skull and she collapsed in a heap on the floor. Her vision blurred and all sound became fuzzy, a muffled voice spoke, followed by two loud drums, drowned out by the pulsing in her ears. She caught a glimpse of the two men collapsing before everything went black, and then there was nothing but silence.
Ellaine struck the back of Scarlet’s head with the butt of another pistol, the pale girl’s face went grey as she collapsed in a heap on the floor. A shot fired, striking Bolton in the head, and he fell face-first to the wood, blood began to pool around him. A second shot struck John’s gun-arm, forcing him to release his grasp of the weapon; its contact with the floor forced it to go off.
A snapping motion of Ellaine’s hands and the first pistol was reloaded, and another shot was fired, this time striking John in the knee and he fell to the ground, clutching the wound, moaning in agony.
‘Who the hell are you?!’ he demanded.
‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business’ she responded coldly, and took a step towards him. ‘All that you need to know is that to you, I am death.'
John’s face grew pale, a look of loss of blood, or perhaps of fear; and Ellaine licked her lips. She always loved this part, the contorted expression on a man’s face when she landed the killing stroke, the final gasp for air when she slit her victim’s throat, the pained look in their eyes.
She holstered the twin flintlocks at her hips and unhooked the knife from her boot and slowly stepped towards the wounded man who recoiled, trying in vain to escape her as he dragged himself back towards the wall.
‘A lot of people won’t be sorry to see you gone, and I have a feeling that she won’t either’ She uttered as she knelt beside him, gesturing to the unconscious girl on the floor.
‘Please, don’t,’ John begged, and Ellaine cackled maniacally. ‘Too late, Johnny boy.’ She retorted and slid the knife along his throat. She watched as he struggled to breathe, as the colour in his eyes began to fade, deeply satisfied that the last thing that they would catch a glimpse of was her bright read smirk, and the coolness of her own blue eyes. His struggling stopped, and his arms grew limp as his hands loosed their grip around the open wound across his throat and Ellaine stood, turning to face the young girl on the floor, before stepping towards Bolton’s lifeless body to retrieve the crumpled paper which was balled up in his fist. She unravelled it and turned it over and dipped a finger in his blood and scribbled a note on the back of the page.
‘When you wake, I’ll be gone. Come find me. ~L~’
She placed the note by the girl’s face, bolted down the stairs and jumped out the open window to disappear into the night.
Scarlet’s eyes opened slowly and her hand moved sluggishly to the back of her head. She sat up, blinking away the fuzziness in her vision and scanned the room, her every muscle ached, her head sore from the blow to the base of her skull. It took a moment, but she remembered a blonde-haired girl with bright blue eyes confronting her father and Bolton, and after that a distorted sound, like muffled gunfire. She looked up to see the two lifeless bodies on the floor, one with a single wound to his head, a hole in the wall behind where he was standing, the other, two gun wounds and a straight cut along his throat, eyes open, but void of colour. She felt…she didn’t know how she felt, whatever it was, it wasn’t sorrow or grief, but almost as if a weight had been lifted from her. She moved to push herself up off the floor, her hand falling upon the note written in blood by her side.
‘When you wake, I’ll be gone. Come fine me. ~L~’
She stared at the note for a moment, pondering the meaning behind it before tucking it into her blouse and retrieving the pistol from her other side to slide it into the holster. Slowly she rose off the floor and turned to the door, looking back only for a moment, to bid her dead father one last farewell before walking away. She gripped the rail of the stairs, still shaky as she wobbled slowly down towards the front door.
She stopped, placed a finger to the chain lock on the door to unlatch it and pulled it open. She blinked rapidly as sunlight poured in, blinding her momentarily, and she breathed in the smell of the warm morning air, greeting the world outside, a world that was now hers to explore as she pleased. She hesitated as she adopted this new freedom, drew in one final breath of the familiar varnish scented house, and took her first step out the door onto the cobblestone path outside. It felt strange beneath her flat shoes, she was used to the feel of wood, or thick carpet beneath her feet. She didn’t know where she would go, but her objective became clear, to find the blonde-haired girl – whether to thank her, or to ask her why she did what she had done, she didn’t know. And so, her search began.