XVIII
He was probably going to die pretty soon, here. As much as that loud, insistent urge to move or die was screaming, he stayed. It wasn't the weight of Elijah's presence that stopped him. There was no mistaking the weight of the vampire's bone-pale eyes, or the pressure of his rage. Their combined presence working to pin Caff's feet to the ground would make a lot of sense, to be sure. It just wouldn't be true. He had put himself here because, as much as he might wish otherwise, unleashing Rupert Wagner's messy death at Elijah's hands was the wrong thing to do. In the eyes of the law, sure, but in his own as well. As to why he had stayed; he did not know.
It was almost funny. Here he was; about to die to protect the life of a man he despised and not knowing why. At least it'd be quick.
Standing so close to his own death, for so long, had a curious effect on him. Those seconds after his declaration were dragged out, stretching to carry the tense silence, into what felt like hours. That screaming urge was absorbed into the silence. In its place was a sort of yearning. An opportunity to return to that cold indifference was right in front of him. It was right there. All he had to do, was nothing at all. Elijah's rage would overcome him, and that would be that.
If he did that, though, if he did that then a lot of wrong would go unrighted. Rupert would probably follow him into the cold, but Talmadge might not. That uncertainty rattled that deep-seated want. People would also be hurt. Maybe not a lot of people, but who would be was enough to bring him back to some kind of sense. Claudia would grieve his loss fiercely. So soon on the heels of her friend's death, to also lose her brother, might very well be the overflowing drop in a cup full of sorrow. That thought alone prompted him to act, to clear his throat and say, “Well...what now?”
Elijah's chest heaved like the course of his fury was running him ragged. “Move,” He hissed, pushing closer. They were close enough together, now, that Jennie's shot loaded twelve-gauge was of no good. “I am warning you, Sheriff, that I will not ask you again. He will die for what he took from me.”
Caff met the gleaming, narrowed gaze of Elijah's fury. “Do what you have to,” he answered.
“You would die for him?!” Elijah challenged, in clear and disgusted disbelief.
Jennie made a sound, then. It was a strangled thing. Maybe wishful thinking on Caff's part, but he thought he heard a sorrowful plea in there. “Looks that way,” he said. When he did, something broke through the vampire's fury. Not a whole lot, and not for very long.
“He would not for you,” Elijah said, like Caff did not already know that. Giving Rupert over was the smart call, or at least the one that had the best chance of his living. Probably no one would even hold it against him. Rupert wasn't long for the world, anyway. Law was clear on that. A life taken called for the taker's given in turn. He just could not find it in him to stand aside.
“I know,” He quietly acknowledged. “I do.”
There was a moment of drawn-out quiet, then Jennie broke it with a hoarse rasp. “Don't you do it,” she warned. “Don't you dare.” Who it was meant for, he didn't know. He did not want to look away from Elijah, just in case. She said, “I won't have it.” and it was followed by the sound of her taking a few steps closer.
Elijah was still. No more heaving breaths worked his chest. The narrowed slits of his glare had been softened by something Caff was willing to call pain. “Do you,” Elijah murmured, “have any idea what it was he took from me?”
Caff shook his head. He could make a guess, but that was all it would be.
Elijah, that look of pain growing into one of heartbreak and grief, said, “An oath, a promise to myself, that I would not shed one drop more of human blood. For the sum of all three of your lives, it was kept, and now...” He trailed off, shook his head, and finished in a sad whisper of, “undone.”
Caff figured he saw just a small piece of what it was like to be Elijah. Just for and within that short moment, he saw. How lonely it was, how little he truly had. It hurt to see. A singular and sorrowful life. “I...” What do I say to that? “It's a hell of a thing. I'm real sorry.”
“Thank you,” Elijah answered. He looked over Caff's shoulder to Rupert, who had failed to say or do anything since this all started. It was probably for the best. He ordered, “Confess to your guilt. Do it. Or else.”
Rupert had gone gray and startled-deer still. His eyes were wide and hands shaking. He had curled into himself and, by the look of things, soiled his pants with piss. Caff could not say he looked down on him for that. Everything else, yes. Pissing himself in the face of Elijah's fury; no. He licked dry, cracked lips and, in a cracking voice, said, “I – I done it. It was – it was me. Mr. Talmadge, he told me to, but I done it.”
“Why?” Caff asked quietly. He had turned his back on Elijah. The hairs on his neck stood on end, even though the vampire did nothing but exist in the space behind him.
Rupert's eyes met his, and in them Caff saw confusion, fear, and desperation. “Said he needed her – her liver for somethin'. He got some kind of power. Does...things...with it. I don' know. I don' know.”
He nodded. “Go on.”
Rupert swallowed and did, “He – he knew where she'd be. The kid, too. Taught me this...this thing. I could make things happen, just by saying the word.”
“Shadows,” Caff answered. He folded his arms against the memory of that darkened mausoleum and the clinging shade within. Rupert nodded. He felt a sinking in his gut at the realization that Talmadge could have been right there, in the mausoleum with him, hidden by the dark. He could have gotten ahead of it all right then and there. It was a bitter thought.
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“Mr. Tal–he come to me, said there was no one else for it. Brought...” he trailed off, eyes flickering to Elijah. “only all empty.” Then he fixed his gaze on Caff to say, “He's old. Older than he looks, than he has any right to be.”
“What did he need her liver for?” Caff asked quietly.
Rupert shrugged, saying, “I don'–” and was cut off by a chest-rattling growl from Elijah. He cringed back, pressing himself against the bars of his cell. “I don't know! I don't! All he said was it was time! That's all, I swear!”
Caff spared a look to Jennie. The question of belief hung between them. She shrugged and left it up to him. He snorted. Thanks a lot, Jennie. It wasn't easy to think on, what with Elijah right behind him. That being said, it wouldn't be any easier with him in front. The way Caff figured it, a man in Rupert's position could do one of two things: lie, or not. If he lied, and just said whatever he thought Caff – or Elijah, more like – wanted to hear, it was because he truly knew nothing and was trying to save his own skin.
That wasn't the case. Caff knew Rupert had told the truth, on account of Everett Swanson's testimony. That meant what he had just heard was as close to true as a man's word could get, and it was enough. Which meant there was only one thing left to do. Caff sighed and said, “Rupert Wagner.” Eyes flicked up to his own. “My preliminary investigation into the murder of Ruby Pendleton has concluded with your guilt. In a month's time, a trial will convene. The evidence I have collected will be delivered to a jury of your peers. From there, your guilt and sentence will be decided.”
He had just declared Rupert Wagner a dead man walking, and all who heard him knew it. Rupert himself just sort of collapsed inward, turning inward and quiet. There was a sour taste in Caff's mouth and a sickness in his heart. He'd thought it'd feel good, bringing this man to justice. It didn't, not really, just a sort of jumbled mess. Jennie's face was flat and even, her twelve-gauge still in hand, but there was something in her eyes. It was some small flicker of emotion, gone too quick to name. No one talked. There wasn't anything left to say, really.
It was the absence of Elijah's presence that had Caff turning around. In that second, he thought the vampire had made a bid to escape. He hadn't. Instead, he'd returned through the ruined gap he had made in the cell's wall and slumped to the dust covered floor, knees pulled to his chest. He lowered his head and put his face in his hands. Though he did not move or make a single sound, Caff would swear he wept.
- - -
It was later, pushing towards the very end of daylight, and Caff was out on the Jail's front porch. He had propped his boot on the fence's lower rail and struck a match from the smooth-sanded timber. The little flame had flickered and danced as he lit his cigarette and pulled smoke into his lungs. He closed his eyes for the moment he held it in, then pushed it out through his nose. Jennie had gone to get them some food from O'Neil's, and he had not been able to bear the silence inside without her. So, here he was. Watching folk make their way from wherever they'd been to wherever they were going. As always, there was quite the blazing party building down at O'Neil's.
Swanson's Farrier was closed, cool, and dark. Gus would be at home with his son, mostly likely damn near smothering the boy with affection. After the time Everett had today, Caff figured it was probably welcome. Of course, it was right then that he realized all of this had taken place across two days. Two damned days. Unbelievable. Another lungful of smoke pulled in, held, and pushed out. It had felt like longer.
He snorted wryly. Here he was, sitting and smoking like this was over and done with. Maybe it was. Maybe everything Rupert had said about Talmadge was a lie. It was unlikely, bordering on impossible, but it could be that all of this had truly begun and ended with Rupert Wagner. It wasn't and it didn't, but it could. Regardless, Caff would be paying Art Talmadge a visit come morning. Older than he has any right to be, Rupert had said. It kept catching on something in Caff's mind. It was important, it was relevent, and he couldn't figure out why he thought so. He tapped the excess of ash from the cigarette's end.
Jennie'd help him. She had a good head for puzzles and a keen mind for solving them fast. This time it was without a drop of bitter envy that he thought she really ought to have his job. He wondered why the job had chosen himself over her, what it had seen that made him the better choice. It was about as old as the town itself, so it had to know something he didn't. Whatever it was, he couldn't see it. He'd just have to keep trying to prove it had made the right choice.
A breeze kicked up, coming in cold from the desert, bringing the smell of food with it. Pork, maybe, or beef. The fact he could smell it made it a roast, which meant potatoes and vegetables, too. Salty broth to be soaked up with hot, steaming bread rolls. Shit, am I hungry. The source of the smell, which he had figured to be O'Neil's, turned out to be Jennie. He hadn't really been looking, so he'd missed her walking down the road clear as day with plates of food in hand. A hungry fool, indeed. “Caff,” she said, coming up the steps to hand him a plate. He'd been right. “You look–”
“Terrible,” he finished for her. The warmth of the food soaked through the metal plate into his hands. “I know.”
“I was gonna say 'hungry', actually,” Jennie replied, before shrugging. “but...” He snorted, smiling wry around the dying ember of his cigarette. With the hand not carefully cradling his dinner he flicked the glowing cherry into the road.
“You're real funny,” He grumbled, coming to sit on the top step. Oh, but it smelled good. Jennie settled in next to him with a short laugh.
“I know,” she said, then reached into a coat pocket to pull out a fork-and-knife set wrapped in a cloth napkin and a bottle of beer. “Here,” she handed it over, then removed a second from a different pocket for herself. “Compliments of Milton O'Neil himself.”
“Well, I'll be sure to thank him.” Caff murmured. The beer was bitter and cool, the food hot and savory, and the company good. All in all, he reflected, not a bad way to spend a moment. His own brain brought it to an end, just as the last of the broth was sopped by the last crusts of bread. “You think Talmadge ate it?” he wondered aloud.
Jennie blinked at him, confused. “Ate what?” She figured it out before he could answer, leaning back and wrinkling her face in disgust. She groaned aloud before saying, “Oh, that is vile! I can't–who would even–?!” She cut herself off and turned thoughtful, then dipped her head and said, “He might've done. But why? Eat it, I mean.”
Caff grunted. “I've been trying to figure it out since this whole mess began. What he wants it for.” He rolled the empty bottle across his palms as he spoke in a musing gesture. She made an inquisitive noise and he sighed. “Gotten nowhere with it. It's just – I'm out of my depth here, Jennie.”
She hummed thoughtfully. They were quiet for a moment, watching the sky slowly darken into evening-blue. She said, “We know Ruby was picked 'cause he thought she wouldn't be missed.” He made an agreeable noise and she kept going, “We know he has power. Can get into people's heads and make 'em do what he wants. We know he went out of his way to have her liver taken. We don't know what he wanted it for, or how Everett Swanson figures in to all this.” She looked at him and asked, “I miss anything?”
He thought back for a moment before answering, “Some kind of spirit might be involved. Apart from that? No.”
“Well...” She drawled, bumping her shoulder into his, “that ain't nothin', Caff.”
When she put it that way, it was hard to argue. He was finding it hard to argue with Jennie at all, almost entirely due to the very sensible head she had atop her shoulders. He found himself reassured, and he was not about to narrow down why. “No,” he said, “I suppose it isn't.”
She folded one leg over the other, crossing them at the knee, then propping her elbow on the join so she could put her chin in her palm. “So,” she prompted, after a moment, “we got two questions left to answer. How do you wanna do it?”
He considered that for a moment, measured the options, and answered, “Could run around town some more. Checking old records and books and such. Maybe find someone who knows more about what's going on up at that ranch.” He was not leaning favorably towards this course of action, and spoke of it sourly. After sighing, he said, “I'm tired. I want to sleep in an actual bed sometime this week. I want this done.”
“So...?”
“I'm going up there,” he decided. “come morning. Going to have myself a little talk with Mister Talmadge...see what he thinks of all this.”
Jennie grunted. “Okay.” She drummed the tips of her fingers just beneath her bottom lip before saying, “You ain't going alone. I won't have it.”
“I would even think it,” he assured her. She snorted. “Fine, I'd think it, but...I'm a fool, I'm not stupid.”
“And thank the stars for that,” she agreed. It was his turn to laugh, then. It seemed odd to laugh, when he had stared death in the eye twice today alone. Then again, with a bellyful of good food and someone he trusted nearby, it seemed odd not to.