Cole saw red, then threw himself at the bars over and over, until he could barely feel his arm and spun around to rest his hands on the cool bricks. “Tell me, goddamn it! We’re both gonna die anyway, so why the hell not? Don’t I deserve a final wish?”
Ned sat down on the bench with a level stare. “Lars left, and I don’t see you complaining.”
It stung, but Cole didn’t flinch. “Lars and I never promised each other anything, and he did exactly what I expect of people. Everyone says pretty words, and then stabs you in the back. You taught me that.”
“He must be a real bad fuck.” Ned wrapped his arms on his chest, watching Cole’s every move.
“He’s a good fuck. And it’s been good to work with him. So what?”
“So give me the plank. You might be able to get back to him.”
Cole swallowed, annoyed that Ned wasn’t jealous after all. But what did he expect? “No. We’ll both die, and that’ll be the end of it. End of us,” he finished with lead in his heart and sat on the broken cot, which was fortunately sturdy enough to keep his weight despite the missing piece in the middle.
The silence echoed off the walls until Ned spoke.
“I worked for the Pinkertons. But I wanted to shield you,” he said, hunched forward, with eyes pinned to the floor between his feet.
“Since when?”
“Since the day after we met.”
Cole’s fingers twitched so rapidly he barely held them still by entwining all of them into a tight ball. He’d expected this, but hearing Ned confirm what Cole had believed all along was so painful he rested both elbows on his thighs and hunched over the floor as the words stabbed their way through his skull and then down his body, punching a bleeding hole in his heart.
No pain had ever been this severe. Not the branding. Not even losing his mother.
The happiest days of his life had been a lie.
Ned swallowed loudly enough for Cole to hear. “May I get the plank?”
“No,” Cole managed to rasp out.
Chapter 6
Cole hadn’t slept. And unless he was mistaken, neither did Ned. By the time the sun came up to illuminate Rory’s snoring form on a narrow bed behind the sheriff’s desk, his eyes were strained, eyelids heavy, and his chest filled with dullness that weighed on him like a lead blanket. Perhaps he wasn’t at peace with what was about to happen, but the possibility of an early death had been a part of his lifestyle for longer than he could remember. He was afraid that the hanging might not go as planned, that he’d suffer, but death? The end of his existence didn’t frighten him anymore.
He was ready.
The matted beard and unevenly cut hair obscured Ned’s features, and therefore also his feelings. He didn’t speak either, not to any other person at least, because while he’d mutter to himself about ‘Nugget’ and having to discuss something with Rory throughout the night, nothing ever came of it.
They didn’t break their fast with food, since no one wanted to embarrass themselves by expelling the contents of their stomach on the gallows, but the growing noise outside would have stifled Cole’s appetite either way. The sheriff himself came in around eleven and shared a simple meal with Rory, who no longer asked them any questions and just sat there, as if being the hand of justice didn’t bring him much satisfaction when his cousin was involved.
Close to noon, a couple of men outside demanded for the execution to start. They had work to return to after all and wanted to have a nice meal once their thirst for vengeance had been satisfied. Ned and Cole were offered half a tumbler of whisky each, and that was that. With their hands bound behind their backs, they were walked out of the jail and onto a cart so that every citizen could witness what happened to those who did not abide society’s rules.
Ned wouldn’t look at Cole, his gaze a blank wall that nothing and no one could breach. Despite fatigue, Cole’s reflexes were sharp as ever, so he managed to dodge when a rotting cabbage flew his way, and the projectile ended up hitting Ned on the shoulder instead.
“Monster!” a woman yelled from the growing crowd.
Granted, it was less than two hundred people, but in a place as small and humble as Beaver Springs, such a number constituted a mob. Cole bit the inside of his cheek when a stone punched him in the back, but the sheriff was an honest enough man to stop the youths already picking up more rocks.
Cole was disappointed that the weather had deteriorated since yesterday, and now heavy clouds hung over the town in a promise of imminent rain. A poetically inclined man would have said the world was about to mourn his passing, but Cole hated rain, and was suddenly upset that he hadn’t gotten the chance to bask in the sun one last time.