When the Devil Cries (Arthur Morgan X Male OC)

36. Outlaws for Life

From Arthur's POV

ONE WEEK LATER

THE BASTILLE, SAINT DENIS

"Dear, John..." I murmured to myself, readin' my awfully-written letter out loud, "...it's Tacitus. I hope this letter finds you on the off-chance that you're still alive, but truth be told...I wouldn't even know where to start looking. Last time we saw each other, we was both trying to make our way out of that god-awful shit storm, and I regret that I never got the chance to see if you survived."

"If you're still out there somewhere, I wish you luck. You saved my ass when hell finally broke loose, and I won't forget it. As for me -- my partner and I have managed to stay out of trouble for a while, and we're planning to start a new life someplace else. For your safety and mine, I cannot say where, but just know that we're doing okay. Things ain't easy, but we got each other. And if these following years go according to plan, who knows? Perhaps we might be able to rejoin you someday."

"If you're not alive though, then...I will certainly miss you. That's for sure. We ain't related by blood, I know, but you was always like a brother to me. We grew up together since the very beginning, and I'll never forget the times when you used to annoy me so much that I wanted to tear my hair out. Who'd have thought I'd eventually miss those days?"

"But...as much as I'd like to keep this going, I'm afraid there's a ship I need to catch pretty soon. It's gonna carry me off to a civilized world where I am to live as a civilized man. I ain't exactly ready for a life like that, but it's where I've ended up. I suppose we shall see how that goes."

"Farewell for now, John. You'll always be in my thoughts.

Your friend and brother,

--Tacitus Kilgore."

Placin' the letter down on a table, I leaned back in my chair and reread some of the sentences to myself as a worn-out breath escaped me, probably because of how long I spent thinkin' about how to word all this.

If I was bein' honest, I didn't even know if trying to contact John was a good idea. I mean, we was both still wanted men. Even with Agent Milton gone, the rest of the Pinkertons were still searching for us. If they knew that either of us were alive, I had no doubts that they'd do everything within their power to try and stop us from escaping...and that was a risk I couldn't take.

I let out a frustrated sigh and balled up the piece of paper in my hands, tossin' it into the nearby fireplace.

"...Goddammit." I whispered to myself, solemnly watchin' as the letter burned.

Was that the right thing to do? I wanted to see John again, of course, but...maybe it was better this way.

We both had people to take care of, after all. He had Abigail and Jack, and I had Eddie.

The less we knew about each other, the safer we'd be. We had to worry about more than just ourselves in this case, and -- with the law constantly up our ass -- perhaps it was best for everyone if John thought I was dead. Then, he'd have nothin' to give to the Pinkertons. At least, not when it came to me.

Still though, part of me wished I could at least say goodbye to him before hightailing it to England. Out of all the people I grew up with, John was the only one left who was alive and trustworthy.

And on top of that, there was no guarantee I'd ever return to America. Apart from sentimentality, this country had nothin' else for me. All that remained of the Van der Linde gang was a long trail of blood that civilization was already in the process of forgetting, and I certainly didn't plan on lingering around with my wanted posters still flappin' in the wind.