The lone figure looked over the sleepy town from atop his black steed. He’d followed his bounty many miles to this place, and he wouldn’t let the outlaw slip away again. Justice would be done this day, and he would be the one to deal it.
As he pulled closer to the town, more details became clear in the waning light of dusk. The whole settlement looked old and decrepit, as if it had been abandoned decades ago, but there was enough activity in the streets to show that the area was inhabited. There wasn’t much to the place; a store, a sleazy looking motel, an old brothel, a few small houses; nothing special. The only place the bounty hunter deemed visitable was the rundown saloon, stood almost proudly in the centre of the small settlement.
He slowly rode towards the saloon, ignoring the angry and defensive looks from the townsfolk.He had a job to do, and he would see it through to the end, no matter what. Hitching his horse at the trough outside the watering hole, he checked his revolver, then made his way inside.
As he entered, all activity within ceased. The joyful ragtime jazz that had been playing stopped abruptly. Every glass in the establishment hit the table. Suddenly, all eyes were on the mysterious man that had just entered the saloon, uninvited and unwelcome.
The lawman made his way over to a lone table in the rear of the bar, where a queer-looking lady sat, gun lying before him on the tabletop.
“Howdy, this seat taken?”
When no reply came, the bounty hunter decided to sit anyway. The two men sat in silence for a while, carefully eyeing each other up. By the time either of them spoke, the saloon had returned to it’s original, lively state.
“Ya wouldn’t happen to be Gideon McGristle now, would ya?” The lawman asked eventually.
“Who wants t’know?”
The lawman smiled to himself inwardly.
“Ah’m Jack Smith, but folks call me AppleJack.”
“And why the hell would Ah care ‘bout YOUR name?”
Slowly, the lawman reached down and released the button on his holster, resting his hand on the grip of the pistol.
“‘Cause Ah think it’s ‘mportant fer people t’know who’s arrestin’ them.”
Silence fell over the room. Everyone tensed up. McGristle glared at the bounty hunter sat across from his, his eyes narrowing. Suddenly, the outlaw leapt from his seat, grabbed his gun and took aim at the bounty hunter.
But he was too slow-
“An’ then, Daddy sped off in t’the sunset, off t’find new adventures!”
The old woman looked down at her granddaughter, sitting up in bed, blonde hair up in a neat ponytail, emerald eyes wide and shimmering with excitement.
“That’s right, Jaqueline. Now, git yerself off t’sleep now, hun.”
“‘Night, Granny Smith.”
“G’night, AppleJack,” the old woman replied softly, leaning down and kissing the child on the forehead before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her. Outside, her face dropped. She didn’t have the heart to tell the young girl the truth about that day.
The truth about why her father had never come home...
The distant ringing of the dinner bell pulled the young woman from her daydreams. She looked up from the basket of apples she’d been gathering, her face a picture of relief. She’d been out here since dawn, picking apples before the end of the season crept up in just a few weeks.
“Quittin’ time already?” she asked herself out loud, not caring that there was nobody else there to hear her musings. Pulling off her large Stetson and running her fingers through her long, blonde ponytail, she picked up her haul for the day and set off towards the quaint farmhouse just across from the orchard she had been working in.
Climbing the steps up to the door, she moved her hand towards the handle of the front door, but something caused her to pause. The door was never fully shut during the day; they lived so far out from the nearest town that they never needed to worry about people trying to break in or rob them.
But it was shut now.
Worry running through her body, the woman tentatively pushed the door open, her muscles twitching with fear.
“H-hello?” she called out softly, hoping for a reassuring call from her family.
“In here, sweetie,” she heard her grandmother call. Something wasn’t right; the call had sounded strange, like it had been forced out against her will. Steeling her resolve, the young blonde pushed ahead into the kitchen of the small household.
“Hey Granny, y’ok-” the girl started, but she cut herself off after taking a quick glance around the room. Her grandmother was sat in her usual rocking chair, a glass of apple juice next to her on the small table, the ice cubes just starting to melt. Across from her sat the cause of the woman’s pause.
Sat in her father’s favorite armchair, a chair never sat upon by anyone else out of respect, was a tall, lanky man. Dressed fully in black, from his hat and the scarf around his face and neck to his well-shined boots, he cast a foreboding aura across the room, only added to by the large revolver held up to her grandmother’s head.
“AppleJack, right? Take a seat, why don’cha?” the man said in a drawn out, menacing tone. The sheer power projected by his words was enough to make her sit on the small stool next to her elder.
“That’s Jacqueline t’you, sir,” the girl spat out, a mix of anger and shock stealing all reasoning from her. The rude comment hung in the air for a few seconds before Jaqueline found the courage to speak again. “Wut in the hell d’you want?”
“Ha ha,” the man laughed. “Jus’ like yer pappy, huh?”
“And wut of it?” she replied sternly.
“Did yer grandmammy ever tell yuh exac’ly wut happened t’yer dad?”
A look of confusion and sadness washed over Jaqueline’s face. She’d always been told that her father had run off in search of an elusive bandit, and just stayed out there hunting lawbreakers. She turned to face her grandmother, a tear trickling down her cheek as she watched the old woman turn away, guilt plastered over her visage.
“Ahaha, now THA’S funny,” the man laughed, a shit-eating grin drawn across his lips, his eyes glowing with triumph as he glared at young Jaqueline and watched the tears stream down her face, falling upon her linen dress, staining it with despair.
“W-w-wut did you do t’m-mah pappy?” she sobbed out, not wanting to get an answer but needing one all the same.
The man leaned in close, his stale breath burning her nostrils, and whispered,
“Ah shot him square in the fucking head, an’ now Ah’m gunna do th’same tuh yer grandmammy too.”
A shot rang out through the house. Jacqueline turned to see her grandmother slump back in her chair, blood pouring over her face from the gaping wound on her forehead. Jacqueline wanted to throw up, but she couldn’t bring herself to; she wouldn’t show any form of weakness in front of this man, the same man that’d killed her father all that time ago, the same man that’d just murdered her grandmother right in front of her eyes.
Pure rage coursed through her body, as she looked the man dead in the eye.
“You will pay fer that, Ah swear it on mah pappy’s grave, that Ah will fuckin’ end you and yer disgustin’ life.”
“And Ah’ll be waitin’ fer yuh, ya stupid little cunt,” the man chuckled. “If you manage t’find me, Ah’ll happily send yuh right tuh where I sent th’rest of yer family. Say hi t’yer pa and yer sister from me, Gideon McGristle.”
And with that, the man stood up, spat on the dead old woman’s face, then, smiling as the young, traumatized girl, he left the house, leaving Jacqueline alone in her state of shock, anger and sickening misery.
