XVII

If ever there was a need for evidence that Addison Caffey was a fool of a man and a failure of a Sheriff, here it was. The involvement of Artemus Talmadge had been right there, from the damned start, and he had somehow contrived not to see it. There had not been a single doubt or question in his fool brain when Rupert Wagner did his dog-and-pony show of bringing Elijah in. Caff had been so fixated on the idea of Elijah's guilt, he had not wanted to look further. He had, but only in a half-measured way. Oh, he was a pathetic man, to be sure. Even after Rupert had tried to burn down his Jail, he hadn't given an inch of thought on the angle of Talmadge's involvement.

Jennie would have seen it. Just in time, bitter jealousy made a debut. She would have seen it. He did believe that. All he would have had to do was tell her, and she'd have puzzled it out before supper. If she had gone to see Widow Booke in his place, if she had seen what he had, she would have undoubtedly noticed something he had not. The truth of fact was, Jennie was better at this job than him. It should be her in his place, and he in hers. He had no idea why it wasn't, especially not now.

He hadn't put it together. Even after seeing Ruby's death, even after suspecting someone else was pulling the strings. He hadn't seen it, and it had been under his stupid nose the entire time. It was such a bitter cup. Here he was with the answer he'd been looking for, and he wasn't happy. He sighed bitterly and tilted his head to the late-afternoon sky. The Swansons were back in Barney's office where he'd left them. This was a good day for them, and he would not let his own sourness ruin that. He'd stepped out back to tear strips off himself and stew.

Maybe he wasn't being fair. Everett could be mistaken. The horror of what he saw coming together with the injuries he'd taken since to fog his memories of that night. It could be that Rupert's testimony – which Caff would be collecting, and soon – would contradict it all. Trouble was, he didn't think it would. He would do his diligence, though. He didn't want to. He wanted to scream and break things, to shoot Rupert and watch him writhe. He wanted a cigarette.

Caff took one deep breath and held it, then hissed it out his nose. None of these feelings were new. His whole body hurt, he was hungry, and he was tired. Again. It was that they had come at a time when he'd been rubbed raw by circumstance. A passing thought that maybe Jennie's eyes would see what he missed had become what it had. Frustration and upset at his mistake had turned to tearing himself to pieces. So no, he wasn't being fair. Not to himself, at any rate. Another breath went in, was held, and let out. He needed to stop. There was a keen difference between saying and doing, granted, but he had to at least try. As he was now, there was no way he'd trust himself near Rupert Wagner. None.

So here he'd stay, with a lonely water pump for company, until he got himself back under control. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Everett had said that the reason Ruby Pendleton had been, for lack of a better word, chosen was because Talmadge had thought nobody would miss her. Talmadge had been right. There had been more of a furor over her death than outcry for her lost life. Of the five people who'd seen her on, three of them had done because it was their job. Only Claudia truly knew her well enough to mourn her. If Rupert Wagner hadn't been such a crashing idiot to kill her right outside of O'Neil's, in front of a witness, she would have just vanished one day. That would've been that.

At least – and this was truly of the coldest comforts – Caff knew why her liver had been taken. To feed something. Everett hadn't recalled Rupert saying what, exactly, was being fed. He recalled Widow Booke's talk of spirits answering when called and wondered what sort of spirit would come to the promise of a dead woman's liver. There was also the question of what Talmadge received in kind. He was not feeding it out of his heart's kindness. He had to be getting something out of it. But what? Loyalty, maybe. Some kind of service performed.

Caff couldn't say. He would not describe himself as calm now, but calm enough to be moving on. The chill of that comfort, that he had at least gotten this one thing, helped. It was time to head over and have himself a little talk with Rupert, before the day got too long. He ducked around the side of Barney's office and set off down the road. It was pushing on towards sunset. The air was starting to cool.

- - -

Oh, what a joyous occasion. Rupert Wagner was awake and sober. He was doing his best to avoid looking the former; lazing indolent in his cell, sitting on the cot with his legs all stretched out and arms folded over his chest. His eyes were closed and, if that were all, he'd be doing a pretty convincing job of being asleep. The hole below the waterline was the smug curling his lip, making his face look all kinds of punchable. He made for quite the picture of relaxed and in-control for someone in a jail cell and within reach of a vampire.

Which led to the other thing. Rupert was not at all afraid of Elijah. Granted, Caff and Jennie weren't either, but that was different. Jennie had overcome through force of will alone and Caff had just lost his after coming back from seeing Ruby's death. Maybe it was having had Elijah under complete and total control that did it. Or maybe Rupert knew something the rest of them didn't, something that rode over the fright Elijah engendered by existing. Maybe Rupert was just a fool.

For his part, Elijah had not moved from the seat he'd taken after being brought in. His hands were clean of what Caff now knew to be Ruby's blood, but still the vampire looked upon them. Studying them without blinking. It was hard to tell with the unnatural stillness and bone-pale eyes, but there seemed to be something like remorse there. Caff didn't know what to think about that.

Jennie had beaten him back and was sat at her desk. She'd kicked her feet up, boots on, and had her twelve-gauge draped across her lap. She was making a concerted effort to not look at the cells. Caff saw her shoot a frustrated glare out of the corner of her eye that direction just after he walked in. Doing so drew her attention to him, her eyes searching his form and settling on his face. She blinked, brows drawing down a little. She asked, “You...all right?”

“Just about,” he answered, and he wasn't sure if he was lying. Way he felt, he really could be. The walk had helped even more to drain away that hateful ball of envy and self-loathing. In that way, he was just about all right. It wasn't gone, though, so in that way he was not. It'd be enough. He'd make it so. He jerked his chin Rupert's way and asked, “Get a chance to talk to him yet?”

Jennie growled in disgusted confirmation, jerking her head up and down in an angry nod. Now that he looked closer he saw that she was fairly stewing in it, plus a heap of anger on top. “I,” she declared, “no longer feel guilty about shinin' up his eye.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

It couldn't have been more than a half hour between her leaving him with the Swansons and right now. It was almost a marvel that Rupert had somehow managed to earn this amount of dislike in such short a time. That being said, it had taken him less than five to earn Caff's. Maybe he was just talented. Caff asked, “What'd he do?”

“Nothin'!” she spat. “Stupid bastard ain't done nothin'! Spent twenty damned minutes tryin' to get a single word, and got shit all for it.”

Caff looked over to Rupert and saw that, somehow, that smug curl had become even more pronounced. He thought he might understand. Get her angry enough, and maybe she'd do something stupid like enter the cell. Probably figured he could overpower her and free himself. Problems with that were twofold. First, even a tired, angry, and aching Jennie wasn't that stupid. Second, even if she was, she had already beaten his ass once. “Rude of him,” Caff offered.

Jennie grunted. She was clearly done with this whole thing, at least for the moment. Without another word Caff went to his own desk and took his chair by the top rail across the back. Taking care to make as much noise as possible, he dragged it towards Rupert's cell. It was solidly built and of reasonable weight, so the sound it made as it scraped across the floor was suitably awful.

He took a small, sadistic joy in drawing the trip out as much as he could. Effort was made to coax every groan, screech, and grumble as possible from the intervening distance. Rupert cracked an eye open, saw that Caff was watching him, and hurriedly closed it. That smug curl was going. By the time the journey ended, it was gone. Caff set the chair outside arm's reach of the cell and dropped into it with a sigh. Then he waited; legs crossed at the knee, eyes on Rupert. Wouldn't be too long, he figured.

Sure enough, a minute or so passed before Rupert grunted and said, “Ain't got nothin' to say to you, law.”

Caff shrugged. “That's okay,” he said. He got a set of raised brows and an opened eye in response to his indifferent tone. “It is,” He went on, “it's your time. Running out fast, sure, but yours.” He waved an airy hand. It was grimy and filmed with dirt and horse sweat. “Waste it if you like.” It seemed Rupert did not quite know what to make of this. As a result, he was quiet for a time.

There was a method to this. Rupert was guilty of murder. Caff had everything he needed for a legal conviction of such. Out here, far from the paved roads and metal buildings of civilization, the punishment for murderers was their life taken in turn. Sitting in that cell was a dead man, unless something drastic happened. He meant to remind Rupert of this. “Won't hang me,” Rupert said quietly, with conviction. “not for this.”

“Won't I?” Caff answered, just as quiet and convinced. It was a sour thing, looking at this man believing he'd walk free. Rupert opened his eyes. He saw something in Caff that shook his confidence. Only a little, but a little could be more than enough.

“No,” Rupert told him. “you won't. Got nothin' on me.”

“Don't I?”

He shook his head. “Nope. No witnesses, no evidence, no nothin'. Can't convict without that. I know the law, law.”

Slowly, decidedly, Caff asked, “Why is it you think you're in here?”

A moment's confusion crossed Rupert's face. Brows drawing down, eyes narrowing. It cleared quick, and with a tone of practiced casualness answered, “No reason at all. You just don't like me.”

Putting aside the fact of how true that was, Caff grunted in a derisive manner. “Sure. I am the elected Sheriff of Calavera, with all rights and responsibilities thereof, and I go around using that power to lock up people I don't like. Isn't that right, Deputy?”

Jennie, with a savage amount of sarcasm, called back, “Oh, it surely is, Sheriff.”

“It surely is,” Caff echoed, nodding. Rupert's face flushed, twisting with anger. That was the thing about prideful, boasting people. Their dander went up real easily. Caff struck before he could open his mouth, saying, “You are here because you are guilty of the murder of Ruby Pendleton. It is a crime for which you will pay with your life.”

“This the part where you offer me a deal?!” Rupert spat, eyes flashing. His wounded pride seemed to have cushioned the impact of his death sentence. “I tell you what I know, I get to walk away?!”

“No,” Caff said, flat and cold like the sidewinder's pale-yellow eye. He leaned forward, fixing Rupert with his gaze. “this is the part where you tell me everything and maybe – just maybe – it saves your life.”

“You ain't got shit on me!” Rupert growled back. “Nothin' to put that whore's death on me!”

“Oh, I do, Mr. Wagner.” Caff assured him. His anger at this man was surging, begging to be unleashed. He reined it in and belted it down. “I surely do.”

“No you don't!” Rupert was shouting now. He jabbed a finger at Elijah. “He don't remember shit! It was seen to! Ain't nobody else was there!”

“Except you,” Caff finished. The gravity of Rupert's error seemed to occur to him. His anger, his pride, these left him in a flash. He was a pale realization now, a confessed murderer. Never mind that there had been someone else there, but Caff was not about to put that boy back in danger if it could be helped. “I find it very interesting, Mr. Wagner, that you knew Elijah here was lacking in his memories of that time.”

Rupert crossed his arms and shrugged. “We talked,” he bluffed.

Caff called him on it. “No, you didn't.” he replied. “You know, because you were there. Since I do not believe you are smart or capable enough to alter Elijah's mind, someone else did. Who, Rupert? Who?”

Then this whole questioning thing came crashing down with a soft, understated, “Oh,” that came from Elijah's cell. It was the kind of sound that spoke of a long-delayed understanding. The vampire had just put something together, it would seem. “Oh, no.” Caff turned to see Elijah's bone-pale eyes turn down and inward, a look of utter horror contorting his features. “I am undone.” he murmured, “One hundred years and more a cloven oath, and in a moment...undone.”

A sort of pressure of presence filled the air, reminding Caff of his first moments in Elijah's company. An awareness or a warning that here stood something more, something beyond. A hearbeat later and the horror was gone, transforming into raw fury. He blinked, and Elijah was standing pressed against the bars of his cell. Bone-pale eyes shone through narrowed slits in the lamplight, bared and too-sharp teeth gleaming. Caff couldn't look away.

He heard Jennie leap to her feet. Her chair skittered across the floor before falling over in a clatter of wood. The quiet was broken by the chunk-clack of her twelve-gauge's pump action and her tense, even murmur, “M'gonna need you to sit back down, Mr. Vampire, 'fore you do something we all regret.”

“Regret,” Elijah hissed. He wrapped his hands around the bars of his cell and squeezed. Caff watched as the inch-round, solid metal deformed in his grip like clay. He tranfixed Rupert's waxen, pale face with his furied gaze. With a rising voice, he snarled, “I am beyond regret, Deputy. I am undone, unmade by this sodden simpleton and his insipid puppeteer!”

“An' I'm real sorry to hear it,” She replied. Caff heard her boots on the wood. She was coming closer. It occurred to him that he had neither stood nor done anything at all. He resolved that now, standing and placing himself between Elijah and Rupert. It would not do him any good, he would be dead before it could be drawn, but he put his hand on his pistol. Jennie came to a halt at an angle to him, so as to have a clearer shot. “Powerful sorry,” she continued, “Sit down, anyway.”

With no more regard than a man tore paper, Elijah ripped the bars clear out of the floor. They had been into a stone foundation, driven in by sledgehammer, and came free with a shriek of metal and grind of stone. He met Caff's eyes through gleaming slits and growled, “Move aside, Sheriff.”

Caff gripped his pistol tighter. The sidewinder's hungry pursuit was nothing compared to standing here. There was a loud, large part of him that wanted to move. To get out of Elijah's way and spare himself whatever was to come. “I...” he croaked. He swallowed and tried again. “I can't do that.” he said. “I can't. It–” He tried to think of something, anything, that would convince this maddened creature to calm and stand down. He failed. He said, “It's not right.” It was almost funny. These words being his last. “It just isn't.”