Know My Name - a RDR2 Story

Agent Liam Debunati

Let me tell you a story about a young woman who fell into two crowds: the good and the bad.
Of course, there are pros and cons to each category, but I suppose it only depends on the way you look at it...

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She thought it would get better. She thought that after a good night's rest and a gallon of water, they'd look better. But they weren't. In fact, they got worse. Her hands gained more and more of those brown and black dots, imbedding themselves deep within her palms. Now, they looked bruised. Now, splotches of brown and a deep purple rested on her thenar eminence and the entirety of both thumbs.

Her nails weren't any better either. White streaks of lightning enveloped each fingernail like a copy and pasted document. Nothing looked as it had three days ago--before she was staked with the forbidden object. Along with the white lines, the dark bruising had cut off midway down each nail, draining from each matrix like blood leaking from a faucet.

It was the same symptoms with her feet and toenails.

A new symptom had grown into her system as well, proving that whatever had gotten a hold on her body was indubitably some sort of virus. Light burning of her throat and nostrils caused pain in her respiratory system. It caused her throat to pull into a coughing frenzy from time to time, and with that, a sandpaper feel rubbed the inside of her esophagus. She just hoped that the rough coughing wouldn't tear up her vocal cords to the point where they bled from over exhaustion.

Brock had yet to come up with information about Liam Debunati. She had asked him for his help two days ago and still nothing. Liam still hung from the tree. Kam was responsible for watching him.

"C-Can you get me down n-now?" Kam looked up from the ground she sat on, looking at the dangling man up and down. The blood rushing to his head must've made him loopy, because he was asking Kam O'Driscoll for mercy.

"You gonna talk?" She asked in a low, gravelling voice. It was high noon at the moment, and the last thing Kam wanted to do was sit on the grass watching the prisoner. She'd rather be somewhere colder up North than warmer down South. The lake looked very pleasant from afar.

"N-Never." The Pinkerton claimed, attempting to be brave. Too bad bravery doesn't do shit when your face is purple, and your hands have been tied behind your back for over 24 hours.

Kam shrugged. "Suit yerself."

The man still hung a good six feet in the air. Most of the men around camp were able to become face to face with the Pinkerton. Kam, being 5'9", decided that she'd rather sit on the ground than attempt to be eye-to-eye with the prisoner. The wound on the back of Debunati's knee had finally closed. It bled when Kam hung him by his ankles on a tree, dripping all the way up his leg and back due to gravity.

She went back to her book--another Edgar Allen Poe novel. Instead of sitting underneath the hot sun, Kam chose a nearby tree that provided enough cool shade to keep her body from overheating. It was peaceful.

"Coffee?" Hosea's voice brought peace to the camp. It was like he was the sun and everyone in camp the planets, orbiting around his warm presence.

"God, yes." She closed her book and thanked the older man when he handed the hot mug of brew to her. He smiled down at her, and she smirked in return.

Hosea looked up at the hanging man, surveying Kam's work before he finally asked the question everyone had been wondering. "How'd you get him up there?"

"Same way Sheriff's hang outlaws." She took a sip of her coffee, allowing the hot liquid flow down her throat like a calm river. She swallowed thickly. "Rope."