The Last Love Of Arthur Morgan

Blessed are the Peace Makers

Arthur was convinced to go to this meeting with Colm, despite his constant protesting. Hosea didn't think it was such a good idea either, but Dutch felt it necessary to drag him along. And to make matters much worse, he asked Micah if he'd come too, since he was the one to set it up. The sheer fact that he trusted Micah with anything, was a huge red flag in Arthur's eyes. 

The whole way there he had a sick feeling in his stomach, an urge to vomit right then and there. He knew feeling sick was the result of this meeting and he wasn't going to feel better until it was over. 

Lorna was so angry with him, she gave him the silent treatment all morning. She barely even acknowledged him before he left and that left a sour taste in his mouth, also. This whole thing was a Goddamn mess, and he didn't know why he was still here. He cursed himself for staying when he had plenty opportunity to leave, now it was next to impossible with a baby in tow.

He grumbled to himself as he slid off Walker, grabbing his rifle with the scope off the back of the saddle. He perched himself on top of a rock jutting out from the peak and set his sights on Dutch and Micah, focusing in until he could see sweat dripping down their faces. It was hard not to pull the trigger once Colm stepped in his crosshairs, but that would just start an ungodly war and if they were trying to make peace, that wouldn't help it.

Arthur noticed Micah looking in a different direction, his hands twitching like Swanson when he was coming off of opium. Either he was frequenting the opium or he was up to something not so good. Arthur suspected the latter and it wasn't because he hated Micah - well maybe it had a little to do with that. 

Gravel crunching behind Arthur had him spinning around to see what or whom was sneaking up on him, but before he could do anything to stop it, the butt of a shotgun was lodged in his face. A loud ringing emitted from ear to ear and his vision went blurry before everything went black.

...

He was in and out of consciousness throughout the whole ordeal, whatever was done to him, he had no recollection of. Every time he opened his eyes, his head spun and his stomach lurched. He wanted to vomit and he did. The leftover bile burned the back of his throat and he was left swallowing the lewd taste over and over, hoping it would eventually go away.

He got so fed up with not getting anywhere, he closed his eyes shut and prayed for sweet death. Anything was better than this. Lorna would get along just fine without him and Lily...Lily was better off without him for a father. Lorna was young enough still, beautiful and fertile, she'd land a husband in no time - better than him and make a beautiful life together. The thought made him sick, but he knew what was best for them. And it wasn't him. 

When he woke again, everything was suddenly upside down. He, in fact, was upside down. He still had that horrible potato sack over his head with two holes cut out for eyes and one for the nose so he could breathe. He wished for death so much, he wasn't even trying to fight anymore. He just let them do as they pleased.

Just as Arthur feared, Colm was standing back in front of him. Laughing and snarling like a rabid dog, pieces of food flying out as he spoke. He poked the food on the plate, his eyes glancing down to meet his; taunting him.

"You ain't never gonna see the light of day again. Not yer pretty lady or the kid. Not yer horse, cause he was ours to begin with. And certainly not ol' Dutch."

Arthur coughed, his chest feeling tight and heavy."W...What do you want?"

Colm knelt down."Yer soul."

A shiver ran up Arthur's spine - he didn't doubt Colm for one minute. His throat was painfully dry and he swallowed, hoping that it would help, but it only made it worse. Colm spit a mouthful of food in his face before standing. He sat the plate on the desk and slowly rolled up his sleeves. Arthur braced himself for what was to come.