Chapter 30
Once Upon a Time in the West
Part 12
Uneven Ground

Though it was Atchison that gave him his new first name, it had been Abilene that had finished it for him.

Funny, he hadn't thought much of Abilene until recently. The American West where he had spent his youth was both the same entity that had shaped him and destroyed him. It gave as well as it took. You prospered with all your conviction or you died easily, and the last time he had set foot in Abilene, he died. At least, Aaron Buchannan died. Finally suffocating after being buried alive underneath his foolish optimistic resilience that things could get better. And they were for a little bit, he had found happiness in Abilene.

The most he had ever known.

Erron scowled in his sleep.

Abilene had lied to him though; it had promised him a home to settle down in and burned it away as quick as it had been to give.

But it wasn't until the construction of the grave-markers he made while he was there, did he truly don the name Erron Black. He could have chosen any other moniker, but no matter how many times he tried on something different, the fake name turned to ash on his tongue. Erron Black was what he truly was; molded by circumstances and the people in his life. Erron was the boy that had come to Abilene, the doppelganger of his past self that finally got a chance to become what he was now. It seemed ill-fitting to respell his name Aaron after his façade had become his new mien. He had been happy being the scrawny kid from Wickett that made his home in Abilene...

With both Abraham and...

The gunslinger grumbled incoherently out a name that had no shape anymore, just a color.

Green...

Black's eyes flickered behind his lids; fighting to wake up.

But Abilene broke his heart twice.

Fitting himself with the name Black was for the only father he knew. For Abraham, who he still loved no matter how much he told himself he hated the man. The man's sacrifice for him had been displayed in Abilene, and although the soldier never departed, Abraham was better than any other man he knew; doing his damned best to make up for Atchison.

So, his death by his own melancholy hands had been as sharp as broken glass and had turned Erron's soul to mush. The soldier never did depart, but instead grew like a hidden cancer; slowly affecting him until most of the Abraham he loved withered away. The deeds of the confederate finally chiseled him away on the inside, breaking off a bit of him little by little over the years every time he went for the bottle, until there was nothing but an empty vessel— one that couldn't flood to the brim no matter how much whiskey he took in. The last time he saw him, Abraham didn't even remember his own name, let alone Erron's. Taking his name, was the only way Erron knew how to thank Abraham for everything he tried to be to him. Erron knew the man had done his best for him, even if he didn't remember anything anymore.

That was the first time Abilene took something from him.

The last time his heart had been ripped from him in the Kansas city, was far worse, and cemented his hatred for the West. In a way, he felt it had always meant to ruin him, as if it knew he would betray his realm one day. The thing was though, you couldn't really call it betrayal if you were betrayed first.

He refused to think of it as nothing else and mourned in his own way. Deciding to simply covet money and work as reparations for his bereavements. So much so, it was all he knew anymore. Gold for green. No names… just a color.

The gunslinger fidgeted in his sleep.

But he couldn't not see them, no matter how much he tried. His thirst for whiskey had been the first omen that they wouldn't stay dead after all this time; he hadn't had the need for the vice since walking into the baker's tavern.

There hadn't been much reflection of why he truly wanted whiskey, he thought he just wanted to savor the taste. Perhaps he did... just not the beverage itself. Now he realized, it had been nothing but a shovel—one handed to him by a shadow—meant to dig up what he had refused to grieve about. He hadn't seen it till now, but it had always been skulking around. A memory masquerading behind other memories; another demon. One that he had first thought was his mother's death, and another time as Sallie's demise.

She wasn't either, even if the strange coincidences would have begged to differ.

He always knew the reason he hated Norah... always, since the first time. But it had been too taboo to acknowledge the shadow that had always been behind her, staring at him. So, he made other excuses. It had been easier to admit to lies than give acknowledgement to the doleful faces of the truth.

The marksman shifted uncomfortably in his bed.

Erron Black found himself on a lone hill, staring down at two separate patches of disturbed soil with identical crosses erected from both plots. Their names and dates had long been etched away from his memory, as if they hadn't existed at all. But they did... they still did.

Both passed souls had lay dormant in an entombed Pandora's Box of his creation. He couldn't even remember their names, and he refused to try and recall them. Remembering them would have brought him back to that cursed moment he finally became Erron Black.

All he could remember was a singular color they both shared.

His hand tightened into the sheet, twisting it between his fist.

Green.

The color green.

Erron reached forward and dug his hands into the soil of the small grave, tearing it apart to get to the coffin... the name on the tombstone fuzzy but growing clearer to more he tore at the dirt.

He jolted awake; his pillow wrinkled harshly in his hands as he gasped for air he hadn't even known he had been withholding. His heart fluttered violently against his chest, as he craned his head towards the balcony. Moonlight pooled into his room as a few distant calls from citizens in the marketplace echoed from afar into his room. There was still time to get some rest, but he hesitated before he placed his head back on the pillow; afraid to dive back into his memoir of Abilene. But he did eventually, and like he had done for so long, put away his memory.

… So, he turned his back on the West after Abilene, and ventured so far that he started again on the opposite side of the compass. To the East, into Shang Tsung's brief service, and finally into Outworld.

Hoping to never see the color green again.

Black felt two things when he woke up steadily: still a slave to bouts of tiredness. The first was the warmth of the blazing desert sun on his skin. The other, was slender fingers grazing the stubble of his chin, caressing with feather touches. Still half asleep, he felt the hand stride tenderly down his face and trail down to his chest.

His eyes finally shot open, but he stayed still on his side. Unsure if he was awake or still in a vivid night-terror. It wasn't, he soon realized, as he felt another body pressed into him from behind and felt the bosom of a woman plastered painfully against his afflicted back. His nostrils sucked in a heated bit of air, his eyes narrowing, but it wasn't until he felt an all too real nail slowly make an 'X' over his bare chest where his heart was did he react.

It was an action that was both anciently familiar and unwanted. It had been applicably purposeful— meant to get his attention—and it sent fire racing into his veins. He knew who it was behind him from the action alone— only one 'person' could have known— as he jumped from his bed, the female's arm sliding from his side as he turned on his heels and cocked his revolver.

He grimaced slightly, knowing he would see Chaeomi, but hadn't expected the malignant entity to once again masquerade in the skin of the baker. Erron rolled the hammer forward on his gun, disarming it, but gripped the handle tight as he pointed it towards the ceiling. Black blinked furiously towards the possessed baker, her blue eyes castigating him playfully as the woman rolled from her side to her back; a bark of laughter escaping her as she looked towards the ceiling.

"I am sorry, but you make it impossible to resist poking your anger with a stick," Norah berated, the azure eyes that weren't hers turning towards him once again with arrogant gaiety.

Black scowled, finally holstering his weapon with a heated shove. "Keep playin' stupid games and go on and see what stupid prizes you'll win."

The baker clicked her tongue. "After the depressing night you both shared with each other, I thought a bit of humor would help ease you into the day."

"I ain't in the laughing mood," Erron spat back. "And if it wasn't her that you were in, you'd be getting a bullet right now."

Norah/Chaeomi scoffed dismissively at him. "I don't have a body for your bullet," the ghost lifted Norah's fingers, bringing them in front of her face and inspected them lazily. "I am simply vaper that borrows. A parasite— like you said."

The gunslinger's jaw clenched painfully. "You done bull-shittin' around?"

The bright eyes of the baker glowed indifferently at him, but a frown adorned her face as she surveyed him. "You sound quite upset with me."

"I tend to get that way when I don't get my end of the bargain," Black shot back indignantly.

The specter cocked her head in confusion at him, "What do you mean?" The woman rolled on her side and propped an elbow while resting her chin in her palm. "Our deal is still ongoing. So why are you being so sour with me?"

"You know exactly why..." Black seethed. He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he towered over the baker's form that lay like an aloof housecat on his bed. "And I thought she was supposed to be with Ferra/Torr."

Norah's fingers drummed against the outside of her hip. "She still is. Ferra and Torr are indisposed now. So, what better opportunity to come talk to you? And despite what you think, I cannot choose everybody I can be inside"— she waved a single finger at him, circling it in the air to indicate his entire person—"some are more resilient than others."

Black huffed bitterly before the baker rose and swung her legs over the side. The blue eyes looked coyly over her shoulder— the same one that was stained with a fresh coat of blood that soaked through the fabric of her dirty blue dress. "I don't think you would have liked to have woken up next to Hulin instead and we both know how much you like women. I thought I was being generous."

Black's lip curled at her derisive teasing. The woman finally stood, her feet on the floor the only sound echoing in their intense ambiance in his room, before Chaeomi turned to the irate gunslinger. Her head tilted at him, not to mock, but with genuine curiosity. "What were you dreaming about last night?"

Erron felt a malignant eyebrow quirk up at her. "What? Can't read my mind?" he berated with a low growl.

The specter nodded in playful agreement. "I can. But I know you do not like it. I also think it is better if the person tells you themselves. More friendly, wouldn't you say? I would like us to be friends, Erron."

Black narrowed his eyes. "We ain't on civil terms," he reminded gratingly. "So why don't you just get to the reason why you're here since you ain't here to offer up Rain."

Chaeomi lifted a single shoulder; shrugging it innocently, "That is precisely why I am here, Erron"— the ghost 'tsked' audibly— "Apologies. Mr. Black."

Erron turned his back to the ghost, "How nice of you to pony up now. Where were you before my meeting with the Kahn?"

He heard a sigh escaping from Norah's lips before he heard her sitting on the bed once again behind him; the perverse eyes of Chaeomi boring into the back of his head. "If I had told you before, I am afraid both you and Norah's outcomes would not be the same. It was beneficial for both of you for me to stay hidden in the meantime."

The mercenary narrowed his eyes at her cryptic statement, sensing a clandestine motive needled throughout her words. He didn't want to ask, feeling as if it was a ploy to keep him engaged in the bullshit game it was playing. However, it still pulled at his curiosity, reeling him in like an anchor being hulled back to a ship. As far as he was aware, the only participation Norah was to provide was nothing more than acting as an unwilling messenger and Chaeomi's bargaining chip to use against him for him to agree to her services. So far, both had been met. Though the inclination in her tone hinted at something else, as if Norah was to still be involved with his contract with the ghost, but he couldn't glue it together. Despite not knowing what it was, Black still felt exasperation knowing that the baker was still to be involved.

"I thought you were supposed to offer peace of mind that she'd be fine—I thought that was the deal," he rumbled, turning to look over his shoulder at her.

Chaeomi met his eyes with unrelenting frankness. "And she is fine. If not for me, she would be dead today. Hulin would have killed her. A terrible accident that would have happened if not for me. Norah is very… impetuous."

The gunslinger narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You seem to know for a certainty." He didn't know what to make of her wild confession. From his experience with the ghost, he suspected it to be nothing more than another parlor trick. So far, he hadn't shot off target in that assessment of Chaeomi. How could it possibly know Norah was going to die?

The baker leaned forward, placing her hands in her lap as she nodded firmly. "Because I do Mr. Black. I am not bound to the same sands of times as you are. Without a body… I can see shimmers into the future. I am dead and old— a Seer of Argus's people—from before Edenia merged with Outworld. I can see outcomes for my people, but only if the outcomes are worth noting. This bargain must be for some benefit of my tribe, otherwise, I'd simply let Rain be and you both would have remained the course. Norah dead and you penniless."

His eyes narrowed, recalling something from their previous conversation. "I thought Rain was killin' your people. Turning them into slaves or whatever shit you were spewing before, and your bleeding heart just couldn't cotton it."

The specter paused and only conveyed inattention at his words, as if it hadn't heard them, before he noticed the corners of the baker's mouth tug in fluctuations; fighting to stop a humored smile. The marksman caught it, and Chaeomi acknowledged he had called her bluff by relenting and letting a soft laugh tumble from her lips. "I didn't lie to you Mr. Black"—she sighed despondently— "but my people were already dying away before Rain. Though, he has been as petulant as a child and killed because of his... princely nature."

The marksman stiffened angrily, once again feeling on the short end of the stick between them. "Why didn't you just spill that before?" he inquired with enmity.

"So, you would agree if you thought the situation was dire," Chaeomi confessed dourly. She frowned hard at him. "Although it is obvious you still didn't when I told you. All you heard was that I had Rain. You filter and collect only the details that will help you get money faster."

Her eyes suddenly narrowed crassly at him. "Is that why you are so impatient today? Eager to get on your way to get Rain so you can get gold back in your pockets?" The specter flashed a toothy grin at him. "Your favorite color, isn't it?"

"Don't push me," he warned, his eyes burning as he tilted his head towards her.

The demoniac inside of Norah chuckled brazenly as the baker's hand came up towards her neck, her fingers tracing lightly over the skin of her throat. "Or is there another reason you really want to see Rain dead?"

The gunman knew what she was hinting at, and he bristled at her presumption— one that was made even worse with Norah in front of him, yet not at all. "Was your mother the only woman from your past you remembered when you saw Rain's hands on Norah's throat?"

The mercenary took a step forward, towering over the seated baker as his blue eyes darkened at her impolite brashness. "Now you're steppin' too much in it."

Chaeomi crimped Norah's face into a diffident smile, and for the briefest of moments, the specter pulled back the blazing blue color from the girl's eyes, allowing her natural eye color to seep through before she blinked her eyes and the fluorescent cyan returned. "What does the color green really mean to you?"

He couldn't help it, his hand shot out before he could remind himself of who the ghost was in. His hand went to her shoulder, slamming the woman back into the bed on her back with enough force to make the wooden frame move on its own. Norah gave no indication that what he had done had hurt her— not being able to feel anything with Chaeomi at the reigns—and only stared at him with placid surprise. He fumed above her; his breath heated as he lowered his face towards the ghost's charlatan eyes.

"I want him dead"— Erron corrected with a furious scowl— "cause that's what I am gettin' paid to do."

Chaeomi raised a single eyebrow. "I believe what the Kahn wanted was for you to bring him back alive— so he can burn him in the courtyard for all to see."

Black's hand tightened on the baker's shoulder, his body tense with livid exasperation. "Quit fucking with me and give me where he is!"

The baker's hand came to rest on the outside of the man's hand, and with a minuscule narrow from her eyes, he suddenly felt the back of his hand flare hot in pain. He hissed and pulled back, releasing the woman, as his eyes landed on the pink tinged skin on the back of his hand; burned literally from her touch as if her hand had been a hot coal.

"I am still going to help you find him, despite how rude you are," Chaeomi seethed low, the first time displaying any anger towards him. "That was our bargain after all. But I do need both of you if you want him."

He flicked his hand, as if swiping it through the air would alleviate the burn. "What are you talkin' about?"

The woman brought her thumb to trace across the outside of her bottom lip, a smile forming behind the digit briefly before she shook her head. "It's a bit… complicated, I'm afraid. You see, I cannot simply tell you. My premonition was quite clear, any other alterations and I disrupt its course. I can only participate so much."

"Ain't that just fucking convenient"—his fist tightened—"so you never were gonna say where he was," he pieced together, crisp anger in his veins.

The baker shrugged innocently, unafraid of his reaction. "It's difficult for me to carry a map without any hands. Vaper, remember? Besides, my tribe survives by preserving its anonymity, and I will not break its one rule for your sake."

He scoffed, his hands lowering to his guns in reflex to his irritation; his palms grabbed the handles and squeezed them tightly, knowing pulling them out would do nothing. "I knew you were snake-oiling me."

The corner of her mouth tugged dubiously at his comment. "Norah is still alive, isn't she?"

His eyes shot to the baker, candid ire blazing at her. "You got nothing but your word that she'd be dead."

"You thought the same for Sallie I believe," the ghost rebutted dryly, her eyes sympathetic regardless of her tone.

"She ain't no little girl," Black countered, his words hot as they left his lips in a low whisper.

Chaeomi blinked, "No. Norah wears no pretty little ribbons in her hair," the ghost licked her lips, and Black lifted his chin, an ugly scowl on his face.

"But Hulin is the same as your Gray Man," the phantasm countered back, faithful to the opinion that Black thought the same of Norah's Edenian spouse. However, the gunslinger stepped forward; stopping inches from the bed as the demoniac remained seated over the edge.

"I think you've done enough rootin' around in my head," he fumed his warning.

The specter did nothing, the woman's body still, while the borrowed blue eyes danced over his angry mannerisms; noting his tight-pressed lips and how he still had his hands over his revolvers.

"Without Ferra/ Torr... how long do you think it will be until Hulin makes her sign his contract?" Chaeomi asked him impishly, her words heavy with a rhetorical undertone. The baker's hand shot out, her eyes never breaking contact with his, as her fingers hooked behind the buckle of his belt and pulled him to her. He grunted in surprise, taken aback by the sudden invasive action, as his hips came too close for comfort to the baker's face. The ghost's eyes shone brighter, glinting with playful devilment while the rest of her expression remained monotone. "If you understand my meaning. It worries me how manipulative he is. It was dirty being inside of him. She is not his first unwilling bride, by the way."

His face twisted in repulsion of the ghost vandalizing his personal space as he grabbed the woman's wrist, prying it from his buckle. He held it between his hand, bringing it to the woman's face as if she was a child caught with something she shouldn't have.

"What part of 'hands off' did you not get the first time?" he growled, his eyes reprimanding her bitingly.

The woman flashed a toothy grin at him. "I do apologize. That was a bit too forward, wasn't it? You cannot blame me for finding you handsome. Being dead gets quite lonely, and this is the only way I can get under your skin. You're too thick-skulled to possess."

"Lucky me," Black grumbled, releasing Norah's wrist and ignoring her flirtatious provocation.

"I would not take it as a compliment," the woman interjected. She huffed out a derisive chuckle. "I found it ironic when I found you in the jungle, how someone who was so readable on the outside, was so complicated on the inside. So banal in appearance yet has so much inside him that it is impossible to make room for anything else— let alone me."

The bounty hunter crossed his arms over his chest, "Maybe you're just not as good as you say," he sarcastically barbed. "But if I'm so complicated that it keeps you outta my head, then fine with me."

"But you are complicated, and I am starting to think that you don't even know it yourself," she responded pessimistically, almost as if in genuine concern. "When is the last time you gave into your memories?"

"We ain't discussing me," Erron fired back defensively.

"That is precisely the problem with you. You do not like to discuss yourself," Chaeomi assessed with a frown. "You can with me if you like. I already know some of your past. Despite how you want to keep it hidden."

"Don't recall ever giving you permission to know it," he scorned lowly. "So, don't even try it."

"You and Norah actually have that in common, you know," the possessed baker mused on, as if she didn't hear him. "You both try and bury things. That and you are both quick to anger."

"Is that right?" he chided sourly, his eyes to the wall of his room.

"Oh yes," Chaeomi nodded. "She hates green as well, you know. It was the same color as her mother's eyes."

"Do I look like I care?" he threw back, an incredulous eyebrow raised.

The woman paused, mulling over something silently to herself before she spoke again. "Would you like to know my opinion?" the specter asked, ignoring him.

"Not particularly," he answered back impolitely.

Chaeomi bit her lip, stifling a giggle at his caustic reply before she continued. "I see earth when I look at you. Covered in it, head to toe. You dig graves, but you never exhume them when needed. And instead of acknowledging the plots are too full, you simply pack on more dirt and hope they remain hidden in the earth. Not that you care about your bounties, those are reserved for a pyre and they get quickly forgotten. No, I mean the graves you dug yourself. Those are the ones that mean the most to you."

Erron said nothing; choosing to remain quiet and tense, as his shoulders rose up and down with every heated breath.

"By the time Norah came, your skeletons had already begun to disentomb themselves— that was why you wanted whiskey wasn't it? For your itch. And then you saw the color green again. You didn't like it, so you tried fighting with more earth"— the side of her mouth quirked up— "But unfortunately for you, Norah carried her own shovel, and started pulling dirt from your pile to bury her own plots. Not even aware that she was taking from you and set free your secrets. That's why you hated the poor girl. She's a gravedigger."

Silence drifted between the two at her assessment, incomparably heavy, and Erron found the words he had wanted to retort with dead as soon as they tried to arrive from his brain to his mouth. What was there to say? What could possibly admonish such indescribable bullshit as what was uttered from the ghost? It was quite unbelievable what he had heard. An insult. Possibly the stupidest metaphor he had ever had the displeasure of listening in on. He couldn't help but scoff insultingly at it.

"A gravedigger, huh?"

"Yes, forgive me, I thought it best to use a description you would understand well considering your lineage... and how you still hang on to it."

The mercenary's eyebrows rose curtly, his teeth pressing together behind his tight-lipped mouth, but said nothing.

"Oh, and by the way Mr. Black, it is not an insult if it is a correct observation," Chaeomi tilted her head in his direction pointedly. "It is isn't it?"

He huffed hotly, angered it had read his mind, as his eyes turned as hard and jagged as raw blue diamonds. ""I think we're done sharing opinions, now. Cause trust me, you ain't gonna like mine for you when I tell it."

The baker let out a laugh at him, shaking her head, and flooding him with cold anger at the sound. She frowned at him as soon as her laugh died away. "I think I am aware."

A thoughtful glower crawled on the mercenary's face as he closed the separated gap between them. He placed his hands on both sides of her, towering above. "Since you know, and you got nothing else for me, why don't you hurry back to your piece of shit tribe you're apart of and crawl up Rain's ass."

The baker's eyes darkened at him, turning cobalt at his words, before they flashed back to their normal vibrancy. A scowl came on her face and he let the corner of his mouth lift with malicious boaster.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve— "

The baker's hand shot out, grappling him by the throat, and strangled him with a powerful crush. A garbled curse escaped the gunslinger, his hand wrapped around Norah's wrist that wouldn't move no matter how much he pulled and tugged. Chaeomi was stronger than him despite that her body was Norah's.

"Refrain from any rude words towards my people, Mr. Black," she said with blasé instruction, her face barren of emotion. "And since you do not want to be friends, then I will tell you how to get Rain and be on my way. And do not worry, I will not appear for some time."

He grunted, her slender fingers cutting off his air, as he felt the woman bring him closer to her face. He scowled at her, his face turning red as he felt Norah's nails dig into his skin.

"You want Rain dead, then keep Norah alive," Chaeomi abridged, her tone like glass sliding against a stone floor. "An amazingly simple rule. Follow it."

He coughed for air, his hand going to her shoulder to bunch the fabric of her dress under his fist, trying to push her off. "W-why?" he demanded with a growl. What did Norah have to do with anything?

"Not your future to know yet," she told him. "Or for her. So, keep quiet. You're good at that after all; shouldn't be too difficult."

The vein in his forehead jutted out as he started to choke for air to go down his throat, but the ghost didn't relent. Instead, Norah pulled him forward, moving his head to go over her shoulder so she could whisper in his ear. "Do good deeds and endure and you'll stay the course. Keep Norah alive and I promise you, you'll have Rain."

Her hand fell from his throat the same time her weight went slack, except, Erron didn't move to catch her just yet. His hand went to his throat, massaging it as Norah lay slump against him with her head braced on his shoulder. He coughed, sucking air down to his neglected lungs, and had expected the baker to wake from his body shifting with each cough of air he took in. Instead, she didn't move at all, and after a moment, he went to grasp her at the back of her head with his hand, pulling her face away from his shoulder.

She felt dead in his hand, her body threatening to loll back into the bed like a limp doll, as he kept her steady. He lifted his other hand and brought it to one of her eyelids. Prying her eye open, he saw her pupil grow small when light invaded her green eye. He let out a sigh, Chaeomi gone finally, but her words still lingered on the air like a melancholy song.

Air escaped his nostrils with an ire huff. What the hell did it mean? What was Norah to his bargain besides just a token? She wasn't supposed to be involved— he wasn't supposed to be involved any more than just getting her to Ferra/Torr. They were supposed to help her, not him. And how the fuck was he supposed to keep the stubborn woman alive? It made no damn sense. What couldn't it just tell him?!

"Goddamn it..." he whispered in a heated breath.

He wasn't supposed to be entrapped. He was better than this. He should have seen it coming. In fact, he had seen it coming all along. He knew it, he just knew it was up to something. But, because of the baker and his need to quell his own turbulent memory, and not make a repeat of it, he had been snared.

It pissed him off more than anything. Being lied to. Being played like some dimwit. Seldom did he find himself double-crossed with an arrangement. There had only been a handful of times, and each time he figured out he had been played for a fool, they were met with a bullet from his gun. But this time, there was no physical body, just the wind sneering at him; pushing him around in whatever direction it wanted to carry him in. Despite his malice towards Chaeomi, he had to wonder, how much of it was for show and how much of it was the truth.

From what he gathered; the being seemed more interested in the longevity of its people; reacting acrimoniously when he took a shot at its culture. With so much passion towards its kind, Black could attest to its genuine concern. He didn't believe it could predict the future, though, thinking it as nothing more than the other countless peddling soothsayers lining the streets of Z'unkahrah, high on narcotics and boasting their magical foresight.

However, it seemed quite assured that the unconscious woman was going to die. He didn't ponder on it when he first heard the testimony, thinking it as nothing more than a ruse. But at the same time, he wondered if that had been the whole endgame of the ghost from the beginning. Possessing the little girl at the People's Court to unearth his memory of Sallie before just bringing it up blatantly. It knew the parallels he would see even before he recalled Sallie, and instead of letting them pass by subtly for him— it heightened the memory so much he would have to say yes to its demands; pulling at his guilt with no remorse.

But Black cut through the theory. Why did he need to make a deal then? Couldn't it just have jumped into Hulin and tried to kill her in front of Ferra/Torr without making the deal? Or couldn't it just of possessed Hulin, moments from the final blow and stopped him? Why did he have to be involved in any of this?

"I can only participate so much like I told you. Stay the course. I need both of you."

Erron tensed when he heard the tweedle-like voice near his ear—the first-time hearing Chaeomi finally speak without a puppet. He panned around the room, looking for the source of the disembodied voice of his dealmaker. But, just as suspected there was nothing, and he wondered if he had even heard it, or if it had been nothing but a hallucinogenic affair. Maybe he was losing his goddamn mind by making deals with ghosts to save someone he didn't even like. He was Erron Black, he didn't participate in the contradictory; he scoffed and laughed at those that did, calling them fools.

He shifted his fingers, the same ones holding the baker's head up, as her hair tickled his palm. Gently, he let her head fall to the bed with his hand, only removing it once she was against the mattress. The woman didn't stir, but he saw her eyes flutter beneath her closed eyelids. The gunslinger stood to his own height, looking down at her with annoyed regard; his malignant thoughts not for her, but for the specter that had manipulated her limbs moments before.

There was something he didn't like about it using her body, and he wasn't sure if it was just distaste for the disembodied person, or that it knew that Norah would get the most reaction out of him more than anyone it could possess considering their rocky history. His latter theory, he didn't much care for, especially when he recalled the poltergeist's observation about him and Norah. That they were gravediggers. He flat out rejected it, so much so, his fist tightened at the echo of the word brought back to him.

He turned from the bed, heading towards his desk, and placed his palms against the flat surface of the wood, bracing his weight with his arms.

It didn't know him.

It didn't know a goddamn thing about him.

Its spewed nonsense like taunts of a trickster.

They were nothing to each other.

His jaw clenched, the muscle flexing beneath the skin of his cheek, as he pressed his teeth tightly together. He shook his head, trying to rid the abhorrent metaphor from him, and instead focused on the forced task at hand.

What did it mean to keep her alive?

What did it matter if she lived or not?

Besides the scuffle that took place in his room, what was Norah's possible connection to Rain?

Erron looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed in skepticism at the baker. She wasn't anything, he told himself. She had no knowledge of hunting bounties, or using weapons, or any aptitude to take on anything in his dangerous lifestyle, yet he was supposed to entrust everything on her shoulders.

He huffed loudly, his blue eyes turning back to the wall in front of him. He could do it himself— as he always had. Black didn't need the woman. Even if he did decide to heed the ghost's words, he suspected Norah to be more trouble than she was worth. He couldn't hunt Rain and keep her alive. And keep her alive from what?

Then he remembered Chaeomi's remark about Norah's husband…

"…Hulin is the same as your Gray Man…"

He wanted to laugh. So that was it? Just keep the wife from her husband to keep her alive? He sneered angrily to the wall, as if the entity was in front of him. He'd have a better chance shooting dice with Satan at this point. Although he could execute the man in any manner he seemed fit, his hands were still tied by Kotal Kahn and Outworld law. He had no reason to just march to the man's room and kill him now. He was a palace employee, someone that had been around before Erron, and despite how deplorable the Edenian really was, he hadn't a lawful reason.

However, Chaeomi had seemed adamant in expressing her concern about the pair, and it caused the gunslinger to speculate that he'd be seeing much more of the domestic squabble than he had originally bargained for.

The girl whimpered in her sleep from behind him, but he didn't pay too much mind to it, until her whimpers became grieving moans. Black looked at her, his eyes over his shoulder once again, and watched as her chest heaved up in disjointed tugs towards the ceiling. Erron watched like an awkward bystander, forced to stand by as he noticed the corner of her eyes grow slick; tears.

An uncomfortable lump settled in his chest, watching her wail and thrash through her own night terror, knowing he had been doing the same the night before. But instead of remaining mute like he had, her lips moved. At first, they fluttered apart in light tremors, as if she was trying to unglue them as tears ran down her face and over the skin of her lips. She let out a choked bawl, one of her hands flying up as if it had been pulled on a string and swatted at nothing before the movement twisted her, causing her to roll away from him and show her back. His eyes fell on the bloody spot on her shoulder blade, Chaeomi's own brand, before he heard her mumbling a word he didn't catch.

With her legs dangled over the side and with just her torso on the bed, the shudders and jerky movements in her sleep had caused her to fall slowly off the bed. He sighed, walking over to where she was as she continued to fight in her own livid nightmare. He grasped her legs, his arms hooking underneath her knees and picked them up until the rest of her was on the bed.

He'd bring her back to Ferra/Torr later; he'd come up with some lie that they dumped her on him while they were away. The last thing he needed was more rumors drifting in the palace about him; carrying her unconscious would have certainly sprung more talk about him then he needed now. He had no patience for the aggravation. He suspected that Chaeomi's advice to keep Norah out of the loop was still in effect, despite that he hadn't made up his mind. So, he would tell her a lie when she woke up. The truth was far too long of a story to tell anyway, one that he simply hadn't the temperament to tell at the moment.

He shifted her, pushing her gently until she lay on her back. It was only then; did he hear the word she had said before more clearly.

"A.. a-abb ... abbi... a...Abigail..."

He stiffened at the name, knowing who she was calling to.

The old woman he had saved from Tama along with her.

Erron recalled the elderly woman. She was tenderhearted, could have been anyone's grandmother, but he had also detected an acute sadness with the woman. Something languishing as he had escorted her with Norah outside of the palace, to what was supposed to be their freedom. Or had it been? Did the woman know all along what was to happen to her after Black had taken them from their contract holder? Perhaps, not resolutely, but with enough of an inclination to accept it?

The baker murmured the old woman's name again; carried from her lips in a despondent whisper.

Had Norah?

He glanced over at the baker, her words running through his mind from when he dragged her out of the palace...

"Please. They are going to kill her because she helped me..."

...and back to the People's Courts with Hulin...

"You murdered her! You son of a bitch— you murdered her!"

Black had known Abigail had been dead for some time, but it hadn't been until this moment, until Chaeomi's admission about her fate did he understand, some of what had happened.

Tama and Hulin had killed the old woman to get to her.

Abigail had died because of her, and, because of Erron. He hadn't saved anyone; he had only postponed the woman's death for a short while, as well as gave Norah a small reprieve from her contract holders. What he did hadn't helped after all. He glowered, turning away from the bed to stride away with ire steps. Though he didn't understand how the woman had died, it had to of been unexpected and horrific enough to haunt the ex-cupbearer and crush her under her own guilt. On their way back from the Coliseum, he had recalled that the woman hadn't even brought up the woman regardless of him inquiring or not. It was only until she had seen Hulin and Tama, did the memory resurface. But it had disappeared just as quickly. Perhaps it was simply because there had been too much going on, or she just did not want to talk about it, but Erron couldn't help but hear the ghost's words play back to him.

"You both bury things."

"You dig graves, but you never exhume them when needed. And instead of acknowledging the plots are too full, you simply pack on more dirt and hope they remain hidden in the earth."

Norah rolled on her side, her hand grasping at the sheets underneath as she cried into them— still asleep and still very much trapped in her once-dormant memory. Watching her writhe against her thoughts inside of her nightmare brought him once again back to Atchison. To Sallie and the Gray Man. To his recollection, he hadn't mourned any of them: Sallie, Abraham or Zachariah. Perhaps, it was because he was too young to understand the need to do so, or just like her, there had been simply too much going on.

The gunslinger's shoulders slumped.

But there had been a chance after Abilene.

Except... he never did there either.

Now, the ghosts of Abilene were nothing but blurred figures on the other end of a kaleidoscope. He buried them, but never mourned them, and maybe that was how it had been so easy for Chaeomi to manipulate him. A ghost that could see all of his.

The baker fidgeted in her sleep and glanced with at her with a strange sense of kindred gloom.

And hers as well…