Ghosts of the Past [ RDR2 - Arthur Morgan ]

Chapter 22 - Escape Artist

WORD COUNT - 2204

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A candle had been left lit on the table, giving Arthur just enough light to see through fuzzy eyes. Hung still upside down, the blood rushing to his head, made thinking difficult. But now, alone, was Arthur's chance of escape. The pain was shocking. His shoulder shot, his ribs bruised, and his head throbbing from the blood rush. Still. He told himself he had to move. He had to get out while he had the chance.

Glancing around the room, there seemed little hope for escape, untill the glint of something on the table caught his eye. It was like a speck of possibility. A small glint of hope calling his name.

So, Arthur began to coax himself into a swing, his eyes trained on the small metal file left on the table. Back. Fourth. Back. Fourth. Until eventually his hand clamped down on the file and dragged it off the top. Without missing a beat, he strained his already sore ribs to reach up, and file pick the lock of the chains binding his feet. They gave way, causing him to crash to the floor with another bright wave of pain.

Climbing back to his feet, swaying heavily at the aching throb of blood rushing back down to the rest of his body, Arthur pulled the white rag from his head and threw it roughly to the side. It took him all of a moment to blink his eyes back into focus. Not as sharp as he normally is, but given his current predicament he would need to deal with the slight double vision.

The file, which had already served to free him, would be his saviour once again, as Arthur wasted no time in getting off the ground and beginning to heat the file over the candle. The knowledge of what he was about to do made him doubt his own stupidity. But the gunshot would have to be cauterised. Regardless. Still as he held the file towards the wound, his mind flashed back to Rosemary. How she might tent this. Her gentle hands made him feel at peace as she cleaned, and sewed. How she would put his comfort first, ensure he'd taken some form of sedative. Ethyl Alcohol, or whiskey if that's all she had.

Here, Arthur would have to face the music. He pressed the file into the cut. Baring his teeth to remain quiet as he did. Face contorted in pain, he moved the file around to ensure the wound was cleaned as best he could with the heat, then pulled the file back out, and grabbed a shot gun shell, yanking it open with his teeth and sprinkling the gunpowder of the open wound.

An impromptu surgery thrown together with the few things Arthur had, would have to do. Until he could get back to camp. Back to Rose. She'd fix him up properly. So gripping the candle tightly in his hand. Some shallow breaths later, and a lot of doubt in his mind, Arthur pressed the flame into the wound, catching the gunpowder alight and in one, awful, fowl move. Cauterising the wound. He let out a groan of pain. Trying his best to stay quiet. His neck strained with the pain, eyes screwed shut as it seemed to pulse through every fibre of his being.

There was very little time to try and relax after this. As the door to his holding was opened and the footsteps of a man began to descend the stairs. In an instant, Arthur had discarded the candle and moved towards the wall beside the stairway, hiding. "I don't wanna go to mexico." He said as though to someone else outside the holding "I wanna go home. Home." The light from the man's lantern lit up the holding as he descended the stairs "Hold on, I'll be right back."

As the man passed by Arthur's hiding place, to see the captive was no longer hanging, he made it as though to call for help. But was cut off rather quickly by Arthur. Despite the pain he was in, despite the fact he had just spent at least a day upside down, Arthur moved with the force of a wronged bull. Taking a strong grip of the man's neck and pulling him backwards, before the sickening sound of a snapped neck precluded this O'Driscoll's life.