Better Off Dead in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  His head turned slowly, his dark eyes blinking open. “I said,” he spoke in his usual deep voice, “my cheek hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  I chewed on my lower lip. “Yeah, I, uh, tried something new this time.”

  “No shit.” He grimaced. “Could you kindly remove your knees from my wrists?”

  “Oh, sorry.” I crawled off and kneeled next to him. “Do you think you can stand?” Because I want to get the fuck out of this attic!

  He pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his wrists and then touching the pads of his fingers to the red splotch on his face, wincing. “Yes, but give me a second.”

  My gaze darted around the attic, wondering where Prudence had gone. While I couldn’t “feel” her presence, something told me that she hovered nearby. As much as I wanted to help Doc stand, I was afraid to hold his hand until we stepped outside of this damned place.

  Over by the cupboard where I’d found that box a month ago, I saw a broom with a wooden handle and pushed to my feet. I carried the broom back to Doc and held out the handle for him to grab.

  He frowned at the broom for a moment then turned to me with the same expression. “I know it’s dusty up here, but I’m not really feeling up to sweeping at the moment, thanks.”

  “It’s to help you stand up.”

  “Did I somehow contract cooties while I was out?”

  “No, but I don’t want to touch you right now.”

  “First you punch me, then the only way you’ll touch me is with a four foot pole.” He managed a grin, albeit a shaky one. “I feel like we’re growing apart more and more every day, Violet.”

  I lightly jabbed his shoulder with the end of the broom. “I didn’t punch you, smartass. I just slapped you.”

  “You just slapped me. See, like I said earlier, you’re so caring.”

  I shook the broom handle in front of his smirk. “Here, grab it and I’ll pull you up.”

  He latched on and I pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, but held onto the broom handle and steadied himself.

  Lowering the broom, I noticed his trembling hands. “How are you going to get back downstairs?”

  “The ladder seems like the best plan of action, unless you plan on flying us out of here on that broomstick.”

  “Keep it up and I’ll beat you with it.”

  “What are the warning signs of an abusive relationship again?”

  I waved him off and walked over to the ladder. “You’ll understand better after we’re out of this house and I explain what happened.”

  I also wanted to hear what else Doc had found out, if anything, when he switched places with Prudence.

  “How about I climb down first,” I said, tossing the broom down before me and then putting my foot on the first rung. “Then maybe I can help you … somehow.”

  I climbed down the ladder, grabbed the broom, and looked up at his face as he peered down through the trap door.

  “Violet, you need to remove that broomstick from the equation while I’m climbing down.”

  Good idea. I tossed it aside.

  He started down the ladder, pausing partway to rest his head on one of the rungs.

  I reached up to help, but hesitated, wondering aloud, “Maybe I can touch your butt,” and manage not to open the door to more one-on-one time with Prudence.

  Doc looked down over his shoulder. “I’m definitely going to be touching yours.”

  I grabbed him by the hips, wincing in anticipation of more ghostly chit chat. As soon as he had both feet on the floor, I stepped back out of reach and told him, “Wait over there and I’ll close it up.”

  He didn’t argue, just leaned against the wall and watched me with his red cheek and labored breath.

  We made it down to the foyer without stumbling or touching. I held the door for him and then locked up afterward, pocketing the key with a sigh of relief.

  I caught up with him as he started down the porch steps and wrapped my arm around his waist, letting him lean on me for support.

  “Touching is okay now I take it,” he said.

  “I hope so.” If that ghost was still inside of Doc, it would probably be the end for us, romantically anyway. Prudence making a cameo appearance in the midst of sex would land me in a convent.

  I glanced back at the upstairs windows. Were the lace curtains moving? Chills rippled up my arms. I swore I could feel her gaze on me.

  Hurrying Doc along to the Picklemobile, I shut the door behind him. When I climbed inside, I stuck the key in the ignition and then lowered my head onto the steering wheel. My shoulders dropped an inch.

  Life was normal again … for now.

  Doc’s hand on my back made me tighten again.

  Prudence?

  “Relax, Violet,” his low voice lulled me. “You did it. You pulled me out.”

  I turned my head, letting my temple rest against the wheel, and noticed Doc’s olive color returning. The red mark my palm had left didn’t contrast nearly as much. “I’m sorry I slapped you.”

  “Better your palm than your elbow like last time. It took almost two weeks for that black eye to fade.” He rubbed his red cheek. “Ready to tell me what happened back there?”

  No, but I was ready to gulp some tequila. “You first.”

  Doc stared out the front windshield at the Carhart house, his expression haunted. “Not until we get back to my office.”

  “Maybe you should go home for the day, take it easy.”

  He chuckled and settled back into the seat, closing his eyes. “You’re just trying to get me into bed, minx.”

  Not really, but he wouldn’t have to twist my arm. “I’ll throw in a massage.”

  Flirting aside, he looked exhausted, which was my fault for not pulling him out sooner.

  One of his eyes opened. “Tempting. I’ll take a rain check on that.”

  “To the office it is then.”

  We rode in silence, my hands gripping the steering wheel to keep the tremors at bay. By the time the Picklemobile backfired her resignation in the parking lot behind Calamity Jane’s, Doc’s complexion had returned to normal.

  A glance in the mirror made me flinch—I still looked white as a ghost. Prudence was rubbing off on me.

  “You need help?” I asked Doc as he shoved open the door.

  “No, but I need you. Come on.” He led the way to his door, his shoulders stiff under his attic dust-covered shirt. I brushed off his back as he unlocked the door and ushered me inside.

  I walked in front of him down the shadow-filled hall toward the sunlit front room. Halfway there he caught my arm and pulled me to a stop.

  “What happened up in that attic, Violet?” His gaze searched mine.

  The need to wrap my arms around his waist and bury my nose in the hollow at the base of his neck tugged at me. I took a step toward him, craving the soothing scent of his skin to settle my nerves, like that tequila I wanted. “Prudence happened, and she scared the bejeezus out of me.”

  “You saw her?”

  “Sort of … but not.”

  His head tipped to the side. “How exactly can you ‘sort of but not’ see her?”

  “She talked to me.”

  “But you couldn’t see her?”

  “No, I saw you. She spoke through you.”

  He stepped back, releasing me. “How did she … ?”

  “She made your mouth move, only it wasn’t quite right.”

  “Holy shit.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “That must be why—” His eyes narrowed. “How long was I out?”

  The moment of truth. “Well, she kind of distracted me.” Trapped under the weight of his stare, I lowered my purse to the floor and came clean. “About a minute.”

  He gave a slow nod. “That explains it.”

  “What explains what?”

  He rubbed his jaw and leaned his shoulder against the opposite wall. “What did she say to you?”

  Wrapping my arms around my middle, I thought back to those thirty
odd seconds in the Carhart attic. “She told me that I was running out of time and said something like ‘too many are free.’”

  His forehead wrinkled. “You need to find a less cryptic ghost to play with.”

  “I’d rather stick to playing with the living.” I hugged myself tighter to still the tremors that cranked up at the memory of talking to Prudence. “She also told me to find a timekeeper, which I assume means some watch, but I don’t remember a watch being in that box I found, do you?”

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “So, did she just make my mouth move or did she animate my body, too?”

  “Well, she made you squeeze my hand, but mostly it was just your mouth. Oh, and your eyes. They moved around like Howdy Doody’s.” I did an imitation of the old puppet, which made the furrows in his forehead sink deeper.

  “Is that why you slapped me?”

  “No. I slapped you because I was afraid.”

  “Of me.”

  “Of Prudence. Of you not waking up before she hurt you.” I paced the hallway. “I tried to yell at you to get you to come back, but you wouldn’t budge. So then I had this bright idea to kiss you awake.”

  “But I didn’t wake up?”

  I shook my head. “You’re no Sleeping Beauty.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t have the hair to pull that off.”

  “That’s when Prudence showed up one last time. She shouted at me to bring her a librarian, moving your lips, which I’d been kissing seconds before. That freaked the ever-lovin’-holy hell out of me.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “That’s when I slapped you.” I stopped in front of him, stroking his cheek where I’d left my mark on him. “I’m sorry I took so long to pull you out. You had to relive her death again, didn’t you?”

  He caught my hand and held it, his thumb stroking my palm. “It wasn’t your fault, Violet. Prudence is more powerful than any ghost I’ve come across.”

  “Because she was able to take control of your body?”

  “That and because she wouldn’t let me out.”

  I thought back to the way his body had shuddered. He must have been fighting to get back to me, to the present. “What happened while you were in her world? Was it different from before or did you just relive the same events in more detail?”

  “The scene of her death was the same with one exception—I realized that what I originally thought was fear driving her struggles while her killers held her down wasn’t that at all. It was rage.”

  “She was angry about her family being slain?”

  “Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. But she was making threats that I hadn’t heard the first time because I was so overwhelmed by the shocking acts being done to her.”

  The horror of Prudence’s death still stole my breath. I laced my fingers through his. “You made it through that final energy blast, though.”

  “Your slap came before it hit.” He lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. Then his mouth tilted downward. “There is something else.”

  “What?”

  “You know that box of teeth you found?” At my nod, he continued, “Well, I figured out their purpose.”

  “The teeth have a purpose?”

  “Prudence had several of them in a pocket in her dress. She was holding some in her hand when she was killed.”

  “You mean she was carrying teeth around?”

  “I think they were hers.”

  “You mean her own teeth? Like she’d just returned from the dentist?”

  “I mean that puzzle box held her collection of teeth.”

  “Who collects teeth?” That was just creepy, right up there with collecting toenails.

  “Maybe they’re trophy teeth.”

  “So, you think she was collecting them all along, storing them in a box in the attic?” He nodded briefly, like he didn’t like agreeing with me. “Where did she get them? The local dentist?”

  “My guess is a bit darker.”

  I blinked up at him. “You think she’s a killer?”

  “Deadwood had its fair share of hired guns back then.”

  “That may be true, but a killer who collects teeth? Prudence?”

  “When she pulled the teeth from her pocket, she admired them.”

  “Admired how?” He let go of my hand and showed me, holding out his palm and running his finger along it, reminding me of Gollum from The Hobbit and his precious ring. I gaped. “Really?”

  He gave a single nod.

  “Okay, so she’s officially a freak show. But she still could have gotten them from a local dentist.”

  “Maybe, but three of the five canines in her hand had blood on them with pieces of the root still there, like they’d been recently ripped out.”

  I recoiled. “The prostitute! The one in Cornelius’s hotel. Didn’t you say her murderers ripped out her teeth before they killed her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Prudence one of them? You said they wore burlap bags over their heads, too, like those who slit Prudence’s throat. Maybe her own people turned against her.”

  “I don’t know.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “That could be, but it doesn’t feel right.”

  “It would make sense about her rage during her death,” I said. “She’d been betrayed.”

  “True, but there is something about all of this that’s not lining up. I need to think about it.” He tugged me closer, settling me between his legs.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist, letting my forehead rest on his chest. The steady thump of his heart was a comfort in the midst of the chaos that was becoming “normal” in my life.

  “Those men wearing the burlap sacks with cutout eyes,” he said, “they would make great fodder for your nightmares.”

  I scoffed. “They’d have to get in line behind the Licker.”

  “The Licker?”

  I forgot that I hadn’t filled him in on what had happened up at Wild Bill’s gravesite, so I gave him the short version—me dreaming again, the darkness, something licking me, me ripping its tongue out.

  “Christ, Violet.” He hugged me. “That’s some horrific shit.”

  “Yeah, and here’s the bell-ringer—my palm smelled like sulfur afterward and had what looked like little spit bubbles on it.” I laughed, but it sounded hollow.

  He pushed me back and frowned at me. “That doesn’t sound like just a nightmare.”

  “Don’t go there, Doc. I already have in the middle of the night and it made me want to hide under my bed.” Either I was sliding down a steep slope into insanity, or it was real—all of it. To be honest, I couldn’t decide which was worse.

  Doc cupped my cheeks, studying my eyes, letting his focus drift down to my lips. He inched downward.

  I pressed my hand against his chest, stopping him. “Are you going to kiss me?”

  His mouth curved upward into a lopsided grin. “I was leaning in that direction, unless you have an objection.”

  “Not really an objection, it’s just I’m …”

  “Not in the mood?” he asked.

  “Nervous,” I finished.

  “You’re nervous about kissing me?”

  “No, I’m nervous about kissing Prudence again.”

  “Ahhh.” He caressed my cheeks with his thumbs. “Trust me, Violet. Right now in this hallway it’s only me.” His lips brushed against mine. “And you.” He kissed me again, slow and soft, melting my fear, my resistance.

  I pushed up on my toes and kissed him back with more force, growing frenzied. He tasted salty, sexy, safe. He was my rock, my sanity. My tongue delved and danced with his. I wanted more. I tore at his shirt buttons, hearing something rip in my haste to touch his skin, to have his flesh rubbing against mine, to feel him inside of me, taking me.

  “Damn, Boots,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “You turn me inside out when you kiss me like that.”

  “Like what?” I unbuttoned his pants, yanking the zipper down.

  He s
hoved me back against the wall. “Like you want me to tear off your clothes and take you right here.” His mouth covered mine, owning it. His tongue worked a few new tricks that had me writhing against his thigh, which he was pressing into my groin.

  “I do,” I gasped. “I want you deep inside of me.”

  A growl rumbled from his throat. “God, your mouth is incredible, so soft. And your breasts …” His lips trailed down my cleavage, his hands cupping, his thumbs circling through my sweater. “They glitter and smell like coconuts. Do you know what that does to a guy?”

  I reached down and touched him through his jeans. “The intent was to get you a little excited.”

  His laugh was muffled by my skin. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use the word ‘little’ when your hand is on my fly.”

  He tugged the front of my sweater and bra down and just ogled me. “Damn,” he said. “I’ve never met a woman who makes me so—”

  Someone pounded on the back door.

  We both froze, looking at each other.

  “Did you lock the door?” I whispered.

  He nodded.

  The pounding rattled the door again. “Doc?” Cooper called from the other side. “You in there?”

  I hissed at the door.

  “I messed up your sweater,” Doc said, adjusting himself before zipping up.

  No, he’d messed up everything under my sweater. I fixed my bra so my breasts were back on the inside and ran a hand through my hair.

  “Ready?” he asked, grabbing the knob.

  “No! Wait.” I scooped up my purse and raced toward the bathroom.

  “Coming,” Doc yelled through the door, unlocking it.

  “Okay,” I whispered and shut the door, leaning against it. I hit the light and looked at the flushed woman in the mirror frowning back at me.

  What was Cooper doing here? And why now, when Doc and I finally had a moment alone?

  I heard the back door shut and the mumbling of low voices. I pressed my ear to the wood, hearing Cooper say my name as they passed by outside the bathroom door heading for the front. Was he here to ask Doc about my whereabouts again? For what? I hadn’t done anything lately. At least I didn’t think so.

  The rumble of voices faded. They must have gone out front. I counted to ten and flushed the toilet, then ran the water for a moment. Smoothing my sweater down over my pants, I shut off the light, opened the door, and headed out to undoubtedly butt heads with Deadwood’s cuddly and loveable detective once again.