After wrestling with the can of sweet beans for a while, Bonnie finally managed to pry it open with the knife. She celebrated by setting the can over the small flames of the other tins and waited for the beans to heat up. Every so often she used a silver spoon she'd packed to stir them so they wouldn't burn. When they were ready, she grabbed the can with a cloth to keep from scalding herself and looked up at the stars in silence while she ate.
'I'm so tired… Now that I think about it, I haven't slept a single minute since I arrived in this world. I couldn't sleep all night knowing I was about to be married off to that man… I really need to rest.'
When she finished eating, she felt the soaked dress clinging to her body and let out a tired sigh.
'I should get out of this dress before the cold freezes me solid.'
She took off the dress and used the cloth wrappings from the cans to cover herself—though first she held them over the gentle flames of the tins to dry them a little. While she did that, she could feel the cold, treacherous desert breeze cutting into her mercilessly. Her body shook violently, but Bonnie held firm until the wrappings were dry enough.
When she was done, she coiled herself up in the cloth like a caterpillar and sat back against the large rock with the flat stone beneath her. She wrapped her arms around herself and gave Capella one last look.
"Goodnight, Capella. Tomorrow I'll think of somewhere better for us to rest."
She closed her eyes slowly. Completely spent, she sank into a deep sleep within seconds. Everything around her felt heavy and cold, lonely and tense, painful and… ethereal.
The moon glowed faintly in the sky, the stars kept up their irregular blinking, and the shadow Bonnie cast against the rock—thrown by the small flames of the tins—trembled strangely, warping like a candle flame caught in a storm.
Then Samuel fell into a deep black pit inside his dreams, sinking through the depths while a voice whispered softly in his ear. As he fell, he passed through an endless stream of memories that fused themselves into his mind and soul one by one, reshaping his very existence to fit this world like a ball of clay being pressed into a mold.
When he reached the bottom, small and gentle hands cupped his cheeks, and his head came to rest on something soft. Then the voice grew louder—loud enough for Samuel to open his eyes.
He found himself lying with his head in the lap of someone he already knew very well.
"Bonnie Jones…"
It was her, looking down at him with an expression of confusion and worry that, for just a moment, gave way to something much deeper—an immense sadness. But then Bonnie smiled at him, as though she wanted to calm him from all the terrible things still chasing him and snapping at his heels, and a couple of tears slipped down her face.
"You don't remember…" she said, running her fingers through Samuel's hair.
He furrowed his brow, confused. He wanted to ask—but Bonnie whispered something that sent a chill straight through him.
"They… killed me."
His field of vision turned red immediately. Bonnie vanished, and a massive storm of red sand hurled him through the darkness. Samuel pulled himself upright in the void—but his eyes went wide with disbelief when he saw the scene laid out before him.
In the red desert, a black haze painted the mesas with crimson hands that trembled in grotesque spasms, mimicking the shapes of the cacti scattered across the plain. The sun was entirely red, and a dark figure—like a shadow standing before the sun—watched from far in the distance.
Words repeated themselves in that moment.
"This is how it has to be, Samuel Calloway."
The sand swirled and pulled everything back into darkness.
"This is how it will be, Bonnie Jones…"
She opened her eyes with a jolt. The morning desert sun burned straight into her retinas, and she threw her hand up in front of her face to block the blinding light. In that brief second, she saw that dark silhouette against the sun—and felt Bonnie's tears on her face.
Her lips trembled, and with a quiet exhale, she thought:
'Bonnie… is she dead?'
━━━━━✧❃✧━━━━━
Morning had come to the city of Ironwood, but there was far more activity than usual—because the day before, one of the biggest stories the county of Warlock had seen since its recent industrialization had just cooked itself up.
People whispered a girl's name in the streets, while the city's paperboys spilled out onto the sidewalks with armfuls of newspapers, ready to kick off the morning news.
Through the bustle of people coming and going, a young man no older than twenty made his way quickly along the wooden boardwalk. He held his hat down with one hand to keep it from flying off, and gripped his work satchel in the other.
He moved fast, dodging the paperboys, breaking into a jog when a horse nearly kicked him or a carriage came too close. His black tie fluttered with his sharp, jerky movements and his clean black leather shoes scraped against the cobblestones.
"Good morning," he said with a grin to a pretty young woman passing by.
Strangely enough, he wore an excited smile across his freckled face.
When he finally stopped rushing, it was in front of a two-story wooden building with a large sign that read: "Stray Bullet." The structure, like many others, drew its architecture from the styles of cultures on the other side of the world.
Impatient, the young man stepped inside to find the place packed with around twenty people hammering away at printing presses and typewriters at full speed. Nobody looked up when he walked in—not that he minded. He made straight for the second floor with a clear purpose.
The second floor had two rooms. He went all the way to the last one at the end and walked in without knocking.
"Is my headline already selling?" said the young man.
On the other side, a wrinkle-faced man with rectangular glasses and barely a hair left on his head was waiting for him. Beside him stood a brown-haired woman reading the paper.
"We were just going over it," said the old man, holding up the morning edition. "Quite the story. All of Warlock County is going to lose its mind when they find out Nicholas Jones's daughter killed the infamous Caleb Graves."
"The Sheriff's already opened his own investigation, since the girl also shot one of his men. Her wanted poster must have already been distributed to the deputies to be posted across the whole county by now," the woman added.
The young man smiled, barely containing his excitement.
"I can't believe it. This is going to be insane—a story that'll sell like hotcakes. We have to follow this case firsthand. We also need to come up with a nickname for Bonnie Jones. Something everyone will recognize, something that can launch us into the spotlight as serious journalists. Right now I've only covered the surface of it, but we have to keep going with this."
The old man sighed.
"Settle down, Sebastian. Just because you finally found a story good enough to come work with us doesn't mean you get to start calling the shots. First we wait and see how this morning's edition does. We need to outsell the competition—that's what matters."
"Yes, sir! I'll give it everything I've got and won't let you down."
Out on the city streets, the gossip festival began.
"Extra! Extra! Nicholas Jones's daughter murders Caleb Graves!" shouted a boy down the block, shaking the newspaper back and forth.
Some men nearby heard it and, curious, bought a copy. As they read, most of them landed on the same reaction. What in the world? How could a girl kill a man that powerful without a second thought? And with that question came the readers' theories.
The news spread like gunpowder that morning, while near the Sheriff's office, a brand-new wanted poster went up on the board alongside those of lesser criminals. The poster featured a remarkably well-drawn likeness of Bonnie.
==========
Wanted:
= Dead or Alive =
= Bonnie Jones =
Reward:
= 150 Crowns =
= Wanted for the murder of two men and subsequent flight from the authorities of Warlock County =
= Armed and dangerous =
Last seen:
= Riding west =
Issued by the Office of the Sheriff of Warlock County.
=========
Nicholas Jones, reading the newspaper from his office with his daughter's wanted poster lying beside it, let out a long, weary, resigned sigh. He turned to look out the window, toward the distant desert stretching across the horizon, and sat in silence—thinking about something he kept to himself.