A Man's Pride

The Big City Bank

The next day...

No one that was there could erase the memory of Bronte's killing. Ana hadn't witnessed that side of Dutch before. What frightened her the most was that it reminded her of herself, when she had slit the throat of Catherine Braithwaite. If no one had stopped her, she would've done worse to her father. They were truly awful human beings, but do living embodiments of evil deserve to be murdered in cold blood? Ana wasn't sure. She found herself questioning her own morals for the first time in her life. There was a killer instinct in her that she inherited from her father. A darkness that revealed itself occasionally. Dutch and she shared this hidden characteristic.

She didn't see any solution other than ignoring it. What else could she do? Hate herself until it went away? That wasn't a realistic option in her opinion. She crawled into bed last night, listening to her older lover's soft breathing. He's always been a quiet sleeper. But that night she just wanted to be alone, the way she used to live months ago. No more men fighting for her time. No more angry stares from Karen. No more killing folk. And no more Micah occupying her every thought.

She dreamt of Molly strangling her. When she finally wakes up, she gasps desperately to fill her lungs with oxygen. She touches her neck, recalling the feeling of the dead woman's nails digging into her. It was the sort of nightmare that leaves you disoriented, searching for your reality through puffy eyelids.

Ana pinched her cheeks to look more alive, throwing on a frilly green blouse and dark trousers to appear presentable. Everyone was awake and occupied with chores by the time she made her way to a stale pot of coffee. She drank the cool liquid, wrinkling her nose at the taste. She spots Arthur nearby with a shiny pen in his journal, she approaches him, leaning on her right leg and crossing her arms when she speaks.

"You gonna show me what you're hiding in that journal of yours?"

He glares at her, his blue eyes squinting defensively. "Can't a man have some privacy?"

She raises a dark brow. "Of course he can. Can't a woman be curious?"

They exchange a silent stare. Arthur looks away first, flipping through his brown leather book. "Fine. I'll show you one thing, that's it." He gives up his most prized possession to her. She lifts it up, examining a detailed sketch of herself. The woman looked like a stranger, her expression was neutral while she rested against a recognizable oak tree. There was a cigarette burnt halfway between her fingers. This woman was stronger, older and more beautiful than her reflection.

"So this is how you see me, huh Morgan?" She hands him back the journal, deciding to respect his privacy.

He slides it into his satchel, pushing on the ground to stand up. "Don't flatter yourself. I draw them sketches whenever someone new joins the gang."

"Uh-huh. I bet you do. How many you got of Sadie in there?"

Arthur shot her a look, his cheeks turning a shade of tomato red. "Watch it girl. You don't wanna get thrown in a swamp, do you?"

She takes a cautious step backwards. "Alright, alright I hear you. I'll behave..." They share a nostalgic chuckle at a shared memory. She exhales through her lips, pushing back her hair. "You know we gotta talk now, don't you?"

He presses his lips into a line, nodding understandingly. "Yeah so, talk. What we gonna do about..." he pauses, scanning the surrounding area for anyone, "you know what."

She puts her hands on her hips, pacing in a small circle. "Gotta try something else. Something safer. Was thinking yesterday, what if we got him drunk and I charmed it outta him? Might actually work, considering none of them girls will even look at him. It's worth trying, don't you think?"