Hostage | Eyeless Jack x Reader

Farmgirl

Crap.

(Y/n) stared into her nearly empty wallet, her hand wavering between pulling out her last twenty or to just leave it.

I can't get into town without it, but I won't be able to get everything I need if I spend it.

It had been two weeks since her last paycheck, and things were getting tough. The wheat had sold nicely, and so had the pumpkins, but the tractor's head gasket blowing out sucked her dry on cash.

"Hey."

Crusty, long fingers were being snapped in front of her face. Her head shot upwards, making eye contact with the annoyed old lady behind the counter.

"It's ten bucks for a week-long pass. If you don't want it you can either buy a regular ticket or get out."

(Y/n) sighed, muttering under her breath,

"I know how much they cost, I'm here at least once a week."

Reluctantly, she pulled out her only money and pushed it under the protective window. The woman snatched it with her wrinkly, veiny hands before holding it up under her desk lamp. (Y/n) rolled her eyes but bit her tongue nonetheless.

After a few moments of the woman squinting at the bill, she popped open her register and exchanged it for a ten and a plastic card. She shoved them back to (Y/n) with a pen.

"Sign your name on the back of that pass."

After another sigh, (Y/n) had scribbled her name on the card and stalked out the door with her belongings. It was a nice day out for November, but that woman had soured her mood.

She scanned the rickety old platform, but no one was to be found. It didn't surprise her, Markwood was thirty miles from any modern civilization. Heck, even her closet neighbor lived a good three miles down the street, which was agony when you didn't own a car.

Not that she needed one, there wasn't a gas station close anyways. Her small tractor only ran on what she could carry home from town, restraining it to her farm. If she ever needed something, she'd either walk to the train station for two hours or walk to her neighbor's for one, as cell service was out of the question. No one was crazy enough to invest in signal towers in the middle of farm country.

Though, it would be nice to have at least a landline. That way, she could call her head-honcho and ask when her next check would be available.

Oh well, she'd have to swing by Wanda's shop and pay the twenty five cents to use her rotary.

Lost in her thoughts, it took her a moment to realize that the steam engine she had been waiting on had screeched to a halt in front of her. The doors had opened, letting off solely one person, before (Y/n) made her way on board.

If she was being honest, this train was the closest thing to luxury that the town of Markwood could afford. The town itself resembled a place out of a cowboy comic book, mainly because it was. It was built when the gold was flowing in rivers and the Oregon trail was being trampled, but after that, no one had the funds to keep it up to date. If you wanted something nice or modern, you'd have to spend a fortune to get it.

As she found a seat, she thought of her neighbor. Hank was a nice man with the "best mustache in all of Cedar county," living with his wife Kim and running a small fencing shop out of his home. They oftentimes dropped by her place unannounced, either to just say hello or to bring her something, but she didn't mind. They were her only friends around, even if they were both three times her age. She'd have to swing by sometime and place an order for some fencing; some deer had broken down the fence around her tomatoes and trampled half of the crops.

She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window, shutting her eyes. Town wasn't for another half hour, and she could deal with cranky people after she got some shut eye.

***********

(Y/n) grunted, pushing the door open with her foot after she'd struggled to unlock it. She staggered through, shut it with her other foot, and blindly made her way in.

Surprisingly, ten bucks can get you a long way if you're smart with it.

The walk home had lasted until nightfall, since she had to set down her load to breathe every once and awhile, extending the two hour walk into three.

Boxes of supplies and groceries blocked her vision as she shuffled into the kitchen and waited to bump into a counter. When her hips touched the edge, she set the heavy boxes down with a satisfied groan.

Running a hand through her hair, she took a look around her place.

It wasn't super messy, but it wasn't anywhere near clean either. The farmhouse was small, consisting of a tiny living room, kitchen, kitchenette and bathroom with the small upstairs serving as her bedroom. The hardwood floors had been needing polished for a long while, but instead were painted with (Y/n)'s muddy boot tracks, of which she also kept forgetting to clean. Her rifle stood in its holster on the wall next to some spare planks, the ends of the barrels becoming slightly rusty, earning it the affectionate nickname Tetanus.

Bills were scattered across the kitchenette table, all unable to be paid for at the moment. (Y/n) had called her boss, politely yet firmly requesting her paycheck only to find out that her last harvest delivery had been delayed.

"Stupid drivers," she had muttered after she had hung up, "Always losing or destroying my crops."

But hey, that was what you get when you live out in the middle of nowhere. If you can find someone who'll do a job for cheap, you take it.

(Y/n) let out a puff of breath before turning around and lifting up the top box, tearing open the lid and placing its contents in their place.

Dumb move number one, she put the apples on the couch. Dumb move number two, she ignored the impeding feeling of paranoia creeping up her spine.