Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Close your eyes, Caleb. Pretend you’re asleep. Keep them closed no matter what happens.
Some memories stayed with him for his entire life.
No matter what you hear, Caleb, don’t make a sound. Don’t come out. Hear me?
Caleb’s earliest memories became nightmares.
He’s got his cane. Go out of the window. Hide in the barn till I come for you. Go now.
For Caleb’s entire childhood, the heavy tread of Elijah Starr’s boots on the stair was a sound that had evoked fear.
Hearing it now brought out another emotion in him. White heat. It flowed through him like fire.
But beneath the rage was something new.
Fear.
Not fear of Starr. Certainly not fear of dying. Fear of being the man Sheila believed he wasn't.
The thought angered him almost as much as the sight of his father.
Caleb had never stopped trying to stand up for his mother, to protect her. Always defiant. Always with his chin high. Always fighting to get between her and the monster. Always braced for the blows that would follow.
Regardless of what he did, regardless of how brave he thought himself to be, it was never enough to stop the beatings they both took. Fists. Boots. Cane. And always, the voice that haunted Caleb’s childhood dreams and his waking hours.
His father stopped before reaching the bottom stair and lingered there. As Caleb fixed his killing gaze on the man, he felt the blood racing in his veins, but everything else in the dining room slowed. Light and shadow and color and sound became as sharp and crisp as an autumn dawn.
He didn’t look like a man who’d spent three months in jail.
Starr’s clothes were finely tailored, stylish enough that he could be mistaken for a banker or a lawyer.
And they were new. No doubt bought at the judge’s expense.
His suit was blue, dark as the midnight sky, with subtle gray stripes running vertically in the fine cloth.
His double-breasted vest was silk brocade of a deep maroon color, and his blue tie matched his coat and pants.
A stick pin with a large stone, clear and sparkling, held the tie in place.
He was clean-shaven, his dark hair slicked back.
Starr’s free hand rose to his face, and his fingers ran just under the black eye patch before skimming over the scarred flesh that marked the left cheekbone all the way to the ear. The gesture was intended for Caleb, reminding him that Starr remembered who had marked him.
If only the sixteen-year-old him had stayed back and made sure he finished the job.
Caleb focused on the eye patch. How many times as a child had he wondered if there was no flesh behind it, only a black hole. A glimpse into a devil’s cauldron.
Judge Patterson appeared to Caleb’s right, leaving some space between them. His voice cut through the sharp silence that had fallen over the room. “I recall what happened on my account at your ranch, Marlowe. I know there’s ill will between you two because of it.”
Starr, like the rest of them, was unarmed. He rolled the document he was carrying lengthwise and tucked it into his coat.
“It’s time for you two to let the past go.”
Caleb and his father were approximately the same height and size. But he knew he was stronger and faster.
He'd bested him in the cabin. He would've killed him too. The memory came back with startling clarity. Sheila kneeling beside him. Her hand on his shoulder. Her voice breaking through the red haze that had filled his head.
Stop. Please stop.
No one else in the world could have reached him then. No one else could now.
“You and I outside. Now.”
Starr didn’t move from the step, resting one hand on the railing. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk of superiority. He was gloating. He was conveying to Caleb that he was in the victorious position.
“Neither of you two are going anywhere. I don’t expect you to like each other. But you’ll need to get along. I’ve hired you before, Marlowe, and I’ll need you again.”
Twice he’d worked for Patterson in recent months. Both times, it had been in Caleb’s own best interests to do so. He kept his gaze on the tall man on the stairs. That wouldn’t be happening again.
“Civility is all I ask,” the judge continued. “For our enterprise to succeed, I need you to work together. You’re now on the same side.”
“Never,” Caleb said under his breath. He called out to Starr. “You and I need to finish this.”
“I’m done with you.”
“Get your guns.”
“I won’t fight you, Caleb.”
The sound of his given name on Elijah’s tongue was like the twist of a blade in his gut.
“You’ve been looking for me. Here I am. You’ll fight or you’ll die the coward that you really are.”
Starr shook his head. “I spent three months in Elkhorn’s jail. I had time to think, reading the Good Book, rediscovering the man I once was. Soldier, teacher, devoted husband and father.”
“You mean liar and murderer.”
Elijah Starr’s eyes narrowed and then he scoffed.
The judge cut in. “You two knew each other before the ranch? Before the bloodshed?”
Patterson’s words buzzed in Caleb’s ear, but neither man responded.
“Your fate is between you and me, and we’re going to settle it today.”
“You are far too puffed up with your own importance, son. If a judgment is to be made about fate, I’m the one to do it. You are the one who has transgressed the laws of God and man. You are the one who savagely wronged both me and my wife.”
“The wife you beat to death with your own hands?” Caleb took a step closer. He thought about dragging the man into the street right now.
“Lies again, Caleb? Don’t forget, there are no sinners in heaven; no forgiveness in hell. Have you forgotten everything that I taught you, son?”
“What’s this, Marlowe?” The judge’s voice had an accusatory tone. “You never said anything about being Elijah Starr’s son.”
Starr’s laugh was dry and mirthless. “Then I assume he’s said nothing of his misspent youth as a violent troublemaker. Or that he ran away after setting fire to the home where I raised him, leaving his loving mother to die in that fire.”
“You killed her.”
The dining room disappeared. The judge. The waiters. The other patrons. Gone. He saw only his mother's face.
Then, impossibly, another face appeared beside it. Sheila's.
Think, Caleb.
For a single heartbeat he fought for control. Then Elijah Starr smiled. And the world exploded.
In the blink of an eye, Caleb's hands were around Starr's throat. He slammed his father onto the stairs and dragged him down onto the floor.
All the burning hate of a lifetime came flooding back. Liquid fire scorched his brain and raced through his veins into every corner of his being as he dug his thumbs into the man's throat.
Elijah’s lies about him meant nothing. Caleb wasn’t interested in defending himself. He had only one thought.
End this.
End the nightmare that had followed him since childhood.
Shouts rang out around him. The scarred face darkened as the air was cut off.
For one terrible moment, Caleb thought he was going to do it. He thought he was finally going to kill him.
Someone wrapped an arm around Caleb's neck while others tore at his wrists. Fingers pried his hands loose one at a time.
The world exploded into confusion.
Men were dragging him backward. Voices shouted. Furniture crashed. Caleb barely heard any of it.
All he could see was Elijah Starr. Still alive. Still standing. Still smirking.
Rage surged through him again.
He broke free long enough to drive a fist into the face of one of the men restraining him. Another grabbed him. Caleb shoved him away. More men piled on.
“I won’t tolerate this, Marlowe.” Patterson’s irate voice cut through the uproar. “Hold him.”
The room dissolved into a blur of bodies, overturned chairs, and grasping hands. Caleb fought like a trapped animal. Not because he wanted freedom. Because he wanted one more chance to reach Starr. Then suddenly, he was on the floor beneath a crushing weight of men.
Across the room, Elijah Starr was straightening his coat. The sight of it made Caleb want to roar.
“Zeke, do your job,” Patterson barked. “Lock him up. I'll deal with him after he cools off. He has a lot of explaining to do.”
As they hauled him upright, Caleb twisted violently, trying one last time to break free. And then, through the red haze of fury, a single thought flashed across his mind.
Sheila.
She had asked him to think. Asked him not to do exactly this. And he'd failed her.
The butt of a revolver slammed into the back of his head.
For an instant, the room burst into white light. Then darkness swallowed everything.