Startled, Bonnie stepped back twice until her shoulders hit the wall. She put her finger on the trigger of her revolver, ready to shoot at the slightest sign of danger—but she calmed down the moment she saw the old woman.
"What are you doing up at this hour, girl? You're making too much noise," said that demon lurking in the darkness.
Walking toward the window, the old woman brushed Bonnie aside with her hand and peered out at Evelyn. The outlaw smiled at her as if they already knew each other—something that made Bonnie question just what the hell was going on.
'When did she…? I didn't even hear her coming.'
The floorboards creaked with every step, which only raised more questions.
Evelyn laughed, bringing a hand to her head in pain.
"Hey, Grandma. How've you been? It's been about a year now, hasn't it?"
'Grandma… She called her Grandma?!' thought Bonnie, looking back and forth between the two women as if searching for a family resemblance.
The old woman sighed.
"I was hoping I'd never have to see you again. Why did you come back?"
"Well, you know how it goes," said Evelyn, her tone eloquent but strained. A trickle of blood ran down her lip. "I robbed the wrong person, got separated from my gang, and got shot. I think I'm dying and all that. Turns out this town was the closest place I could hide. And this sweet little thing here is going to help me."
Bonnie looked away.
'Small world, huh…'
Pressing her fingers to her temples, the old woman looked far too tired to bother questioning Evelyn. She turned her back on both girls as though none of it mattered—but then said something that completely eclipsed her cold demeanor.
"Stop wasting time lying out there. Drag yourself to the entrance."
"You're all heart, Grandma. I'll pay you back properly," Evelyn replied, bracing herself against the wall and pulling herself toward the door.
Bonnie, on the other hand, was too shaken to think straight. She was still holding her revolver, but there had never really been any danger—so she holstered the gun with a sigh. Then she followed the old woman to the door.
A few seconds later, Evelyn was leaning against the doorframe when her grandmother pulled it open.
The outlaw wore a confident smile despite her clothes being soaked through with blood. It only took one step before she collapsed face-first onto the floor.
The noise jolted the shotgun boy awake. He lurched up from his chair, slightly disoriented. When he saw Evelyn on the ground, he froze.
'Now that I'm getting a better look at them—aren't those two a lot alike? Could they be related, too?'
The guy really did have black hair and red eyes just like Evelyn. He wore overalls, a white shirt, and farmer's boots that, altogether, made him look exactly like one.
"Evelyn," the boy whispered. "You came back."
"Yeah. I'm here," the outlaw answered from the floor. "Help me up?"
The boy glanced at the old woman, who stood with her hands clasped behind her back.
Grandma gave a nod and the boy did his job—helping Evelyn into one of the bedrooms. Then the old woman turned to Bonnie with that same stern expression, which by now seemed less like anger and more like just her face, which meant she wasn't actually angry.
"That foolish girl said you'd help her. Will you?"
"Help—right. I'll go get the bandages and the alcohol."
Bonnie turned to gather the supplies she'd promised. There was money to be made here, and she wasn't about to miss the opportunity. Though she also needed to keep something for herself — you never know what might happen.
A few moments later, Bonnie looked down at Evelyn lying on the bed. The old woman was there, telling the boy to leave—from here on out, she was handling everything.
The door closed and the three women were left in silence.
'I can't imagine how they'd save her from four bullet wounds using just bandages and alcohol. Would that really be enough? Wouldn't she need more than that?'
The grandmother answered those questions herself. Pulling a box out from under the bed, she produced what looked like fishing line and a long, thin needle curved at the tip like a claw.
With her aged but nimble hands, she brought out more items—a candle, a steel plate, a knife, and a towel.
Extending her hand, the old woman looked at Bonnie.
"The alcohol," she said.
Bonnie followed the instruction and watched carefully as she passed it over. The grandmother opened the small clear bottle and poured the liquid over the needle on the plate. Then, with the candle lit, she held the needle over the flame—where it caught and burned with a soft, hypnotic flicker.
"Get her corset and shirt off. I need to see what the hell they did to this spoiled brat."
"What?"
Evelyn let out an amused little laugh.
"You're so cruel, Grandma," she said. Then she looked at Bonnie. "Go ahead, sweetheart. I don't bite."
Bonnie went still. Her hands trembled.
'Take off her corset and…'
Essentially, the old woman was telling her to undress this injured woman—which sent a jolt through her brain warning her that this was getting dangerous. And even though she knew how dangerous it was—being a man in a girl's body—she decided her compassion was stronger.
She stepped closer, her nerves on edge. She knelt beside the bed while the old woman continued treating her "sewing" tools with alcohol and candlefire. Then she brought her slender fingers to the laces of the corset and pulled them loose in one swift tug.
Evelyn's midsection was freed, revealing a bloodstained shirt and two of the bullet wounds.
"I tried to get the bullets out with my knife, but I couldn't get the corset off myself. Thank you, darling."
Bonnie swallowed.
"You never told me your name," Evelyn added.
"My name… Right, you're right. It's Bonnie."
She brought her hands to the buttons of Evelyn's shirt and undid them slowly. She could feel her face burning with each button she freed, exposing Evelyn's lightly toned abdomen.
"That's a really pretty name. It suits you perfectly."
"Thanks, I guess," Bonnie replied.
She slowly opened Evelyn's shirt. Now only a single strip of black fabric protected the outlaw's chest. But that felt like enough. Bonnie wasn't going any further—if she did, the "reaction" on her face would be far too obvious.
"You're awfully shy for someone wearing a pretty dress covered in blood. Did you kill someone with that revolver?"
Perceptive… Though it wasn't exactly hard to figure out. Bonnie simply stayed quiet—and that silence was the answer Evelyn had been looking for.
"Was it a man? Did someone try to do something terrible to you?"
Bonnie's lips trembled.
Since she'd run from Ironwood, she hadn't been able to talk about it with anyone. The rush she'd felt at the sight of Evelyn's body only moments ago dissolved completely as sadness and despair took hold of her.
"I killed a man…" she said suddenly.
She wasn't sure if she was saying it out of some honest, noble impulse—or if she was simply being selfish and needed someone to hear her. Maybe she just needed someone to understand her pain. Either way, the words came out on their own, like a release she hadn't known she was holding — a small relief for Evelyn, who was writhing in agony.
"He tried to…to rape me…"
Those words weighed a ton.
"So I took his revolver and shot him."
Evelyn seemed to be suffering less now. Her tear-filled eyes were fixed on Bonnie—this young, delicate girl staring at the floor with quiet shame.
"I killed him."
After that she'd run—and she may have killed two more men along the way. She had done it to protect herself, but it had turned her into a criminal. Bonnie was certain that at some point her wanted poster would be seen even outside Warlock County, and bounty hunters would come for her just for the easy money.
"I… I don't know what to do."
Four small clinks rang against the metal. Four bullets fell onto the plate filled with alcohol.
Evelyn exhaled, exhausted from the effort and the pain. But she smiled, and her voice came out in a soft, broken tone:
"That's just how the world works, Bonnie. That's how all of this goes."
The old woman cleaned the wounds with a cloth and the alcohol, making Evelyn grunt even as she kept that smile.
"There are bad men and good men. Bad women and good women. There's good luck and bad luck. You just had a bad hand dealt to you—and now you'll have to learn to live with it."
'I know. I've already told myself as much. But whenever I realize how weak I am, I can't help thinking the worst. A little while ago I was drinking and declaring I was going to track down the Devil's Cult—but that's just drunk talk.'
Even so, that was still her wish. Despite the weakness, she was going to find a way to move forward.
"It's hard—believe me, I know—but once you get used to it, you'll understand what it means to be free without really being free. Isn't that right, Grandma?"
The old woman let out a low grumble.
"Your mother would laugh at every stupid thing that comes out of your mouth, you brat."
"God, I'd give anything to hear that laugh one more time," said Evelyn, resting her head on the pillow and closing her eyes.
Bonnie looked at her. She turned those last words over in her mind and remembered something—the kind of thought that, in moments of pain and grief, always managed to make her feel just a little better.
'Me too,' she thought.
Bonnie's heart.