Gloves Up | 2022 ✔️

Story #4 - Forgetfully Intrigued

Clay's heart hammered within his chest. A trail of dead men were strewn about the barren wasteland, blood spilled onto the red rocks. The culprit stood before him, eyes hidden behind a veil of golden blonde hair.

A hand gripped his arm; the latter of the two, formerly frozen in shock: attempted to drag Clay away from the menace who clutched a Peacemaker revolver in each hand.

"You there, boy." The woman glowered at him. "Step away from that girl."

Clay glanced between Emma and the woman, debating his options.

For the past week, this girl, Emma, had helped him evade authorities. She told him of the people after him, believing he murdered his family.

Unlike before, the men hadn't been after him, but rather his companion's necklace. Another thing differed as well; Emma hadn't rescued them with her witts nor Clay with a last-minute plan. The woman saved them. Their rescuer seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

Clay's eyes stayed transfixed on the woman. Her waist-high leather pants, short cream-colored shirt, and blue bandana showcased an odd combination to him. He found it fascinating.

"Miss, please leave us alone," Clay entreated.

"Do you not know?"

"Know what?" Clay pulled away from Emma, intrigued even further.

"She has magic," the woman revealed, creeping closer.

Magic? Clay thought. Emma is like any other twelve-year-old girl.

Disappointed, Clay backed away.

"It's not magic, Thatcher," Emma whispered.

Clay's eyes widened. Not only did the woman kill those men, but Emma knew her.

An escape, that's what he and his friend needed.

His horse, brought from the place he once called home, was dead from a previous attack. He wished it weren't. Even if it wasn't a racehorse, he still valued the creature. He remembered the splotched brown and white horse, tamed for the sole purpose of plowing fields.

"That's fine and dandy, but you're still comin' with me." Quicker than the two, Thatcher effortlessly roped them like cattle.

"To become a lab rat? I think not," Emma declared, glaring daggers at the woman.

"Emma? What's goin' on?" Clay asked, shaking.

Emma stared at the nine-year-old apologetically. "You shouldn't have joined me."

Clay could only think of the possibilities of traveling alone. He would be dead by a creek, just like his horse.

"What in thunderation does that mean!?" Clay questioned, watching Thatcher intently.

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Girl's, right. Magic." Thatcher dragged them closer.

"Utter rubbish." Emma snorted. "It's much more than magic."

"What's this bag of nails?" Clay muttered.

He contemplated his friend. Both only vaguely knew the other. Of course, he never revealed why he was considered a murderer. As she never mentioned anything further than her name.

"Course ya don't. Why would ya?" Thatcher wound her rope around their hands, preventing their escape. "Hun, she knows your dreams."

"Rightly so. That's but a-" Emma began.

"Zip it, flannel mouth." Thatcher turned her attention to Clay "She knows. That's Simon-pure."

Clay gaped at Emma. "What?! Is that true?"

"It's not a falsity," Emma replied. "I can hear your dreams..."

"When I'm sleepin'." Clay sucked in a deep breath. "Can you hear?"

"It's not limited to sleeping. I hear anything beyond an initial desire, everything deeper."

Thatcher pulled them along the winding trail, ignoring the drama unfolding.

The color drained from Clay's face. "Why did you hide that from me?"

"To protect you-"

"From what? There ain't nothin' I ever done to you."

"You believe you would have survived without me? You're fortunate you didn't meet the same fate as your steed," Emma growled, "or your family."

"What about my family?" Clay snapped, pulling against his restraints.

"You set fire to your home while your sister was gone to fetch a doctor," she stated, a hint of fury in her tone. "You ran, Clay. Now, you're an orphan."

"It was an accident!" Clay exclaimed, gritting his teeth.

She knew. That's all the evidence Clay needed to believe in her 'magic'.

"You were what? Stimulating the crops? Then let the fire ride up against your home with a person inside," she fumed. "You hid that from me. I only know because of this curse."

"You call that a curse?" Clay chuckled scornfully.

His mind flashed over the incident. He tried to stop the fire, but he couldn't. The nearest town was a day's ride. How could he get help? Clay knew he was alone. His mother was gone from childbirth, he murdered his father, and he left his elder sister behind.

"I know what people desire, their ambitions, their ideas. So many brilliant ideas are never fulfilled. Those people died. I heard their dreams die too." Emma barely paid attention to the placement of her feet. "I want rid of this curse. I've dealt with it for centuries. I've had it."

Thatcher gave no commentary to the two; instead, she estimated the time it would take to reach.

Clay, rendered speechless, walked faster.

Emma wasn't finished. "I've heard ideas of metal aircrafts, communicating without wires or codes, and even riding without horses. With every idea, someone shut it down. There wasn't any change. For everything good and holy, it's 1869 people." She let out a long breath. "You even. You wanted freedom. You're becoming a captive within your mind. Yet again, I'm disappointed in the human race."

"Maybe you'll see change," Clay pointed out, diffusing Emma's tirade, adding, "like the Civil War."

He spotted a shack up ahead. Clay tried not to dread whatever lay ahead of him with Thatcher as his capturer.

"War destroys. No one changed their mind about state sovereignty, willingly."

Thatcher neared the shack; she pushed the two in, then stepped in herself.

"Em, they're still watching. You have your key?" Thatcher inquired.

Emma held up the necklace.

"What?!" Clay was awestruck again.

"No time to explain. Thatcher is on our team." Emma nodded at the woman.

"Great acting, by the way." Thatcher produced an identical necklace from her pocket.

"Not acting," Emma replied. "He's coming with us."

"Fine, but hurry."

Clay stood breathless while he watched the two create a doorway with Emma's necklace.

He couldn't help but think that there ain't nothin' normal about Emma, or predictable for that matter.