by K. N. Knight
“For the last time, my name is not Carrie, or Stillwater. You’ve obviously confused me with somebody else!” I yelled, planting my hands on my hips.
The guard with the swamp-eyes laughed grimly and thrust his jaw out. “Now, how did I know you were gonna say that?”
“Maybe because it’s the truth? Seriously, that’s not me. My name is Ranger Mason. And I’ve never thieved anything in my life.”
They grabbed my arms again, and this time I was too terrified to fight them off. My head was spinning. I hadn’t done anything wrong, apart from my usual hustling, and that hadn’t been anywhere near here.
“Come on, let’s go,” the second guard barked.
“What’s going on?” Zain’s voice bellowed from behind me.
The two guards turned me to face him. “Carrie Stillwater is being arrested. We’re taking her to the town law office to be processed.”
“What on earth for?” Rael said, running up with Oran.
“Robbing the Lucky Dollar casino. Your luck’s finally run out, missy.” The greasy-moustached guard squeezed my arm painfully.
“What? I haven’t robbed any casino,” I protested.
“Wait a moment.” Rael stepped forward until the gun was thrust in his direction and he stopped dead, raising his hands. “When did the robbery take place?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” the other guard said and yanked on my other arm, starting to walk away again.
“Ranger was with us. All day,” Zain said, blocking the guard’s path. “There was no way she robbed the casino. You must have her confused with someone else.”
“Of course, you’re going to say that. Protecting your woman and all.”
“Look.” Oran also stepped in front of the two guards. “We arrived yesterday afternoon, and after that, we bought food and I believe Ranger gambled in the casino for a while with my friend, Rael, here. She was never left by herself to have any opportunity to rob anything. Furthermore, she’s a very striking looking woman. I’m sure many of the business owners and employees will be able to verify they saw her at various times of the night.”
I gaped. Oran was one of the last people I would’ve expected to support me.
“She must’ve given you the slip at some point. She’s a cunning one.” The greasy-moustached guard shook me so hard I yelped.
“Stop that!” Zain said in a booming voice. “You’ve got no reason to arrest her. Let her go, and we’ll be on our way.”
Rael took a step closer to the two guards. “You’re not taking her,” he said.
“No. You’re not,” Oran said, flexing his jaw and looking tougher than I’d seen him so far.
Greasy moustache sneered. “That’s where you’re wrong. You punks need to understand we’re the law around here. What we say goes. And if you’re associated without this woman, then I’ll have to assume you’re her accomplices.” He paused, pulled a whistle on a chain out of his shirt, and blew a deafening blast. “I’m taking you all in.”
Immediately, six other guards appeared, and the guys were soon surrounded, eight guns trained on us. I started shaking, so scared I was ready to wet my pants.
“You can’t do this!” Oran shouted.
“We can, and we will. If you guys are all stupid enough to provide an alibi for Carrie, then you are her accomplices and as guilty as she is. Come on.” Greasy moustache jerked his head and started walking, and the rest followed, herding us along like a flock of sheep.
My legs were shaking, and when we got to the prison building, I quaked even more at a sign above the door reading New Vegas Penitentiary. It was a very old building, all concrete and metal bars. The guards led us into a dank corridor and pushed us into cells, me in the first one and the guys in the one next door. They slammed the door, which was made of steel bars, and locked it. Swallowing hard, I looked around. The cell was about six feet square with a narrow shelf running along the rear wall and a bucket in the corner. I sat down on the shelf because my legs wouldn’t hold me anymore. Why did they think I was someone called Carrie? None of it made any sense. I held my head in my hands and concentrated on taking deep breaths.
“Ranger?” came Rael’s voice. “Are you okay?”
Just the sound of him soothed me a little, prevented the panic from engulfing me completely. “I guess,” I said with a sigh. “You know I didn’t do this, right?”
“You were with Rael all night, weren’t you?” Oran said.
“Yes, she was,” Rael said irritably.
“And anyway, her name’s not Carrie,” Zain cut in.
“You know anyone called Carrie?” Oran muttered. There was a short silence, then he said, “What?” I smirked, figuring one of the other guys had elbowed him.
“No, I’ve never heard of a Carrie Stillwater,” I said.
“Do you have any ID?” Zain asked.
“No. Who does?” I had no way of proving who I was. I huffed out a long breath as my predicament hit me. “This is bad, isn’t it?” With a sudden burst of fury, I leapt to my feet, grabbed the bars, and rattled the door. “Let me out of here!” I bellowed, my voice ringing off the walls. “My name’s not Carrie, and I haven’t done anything wrong!”
The guard with the swamp-green eyes appeared. “Calm down, miss,” he said.
“How the hell can I when I’ve been locked in here for nothing?” I said, a tremor in my voice.
“I’m afraid there’s a lot of evidence against you,” he replied.
“Then tell me, please. What am I supposed to have done?” I put my hands together in a praying position. “I’m begging you.”
The guard sighed and pushed his cap back on his head. “Well, you might recall that last night, you went on a rampage in Lucky Dollar Casino where you held up Isaac Platt with a knife. And when the cashier wouldn’t give you the money right away, you stripped him, cut him up, then took the money and ran.”
I gaped. “Who, pray, is Isaac Platt?”
“He runs all the casinos in New Vegas. And he thinks he’s a big deal,” Rael said in a dismissive tone from next door.
The guard blinked.
I frowned. The guys’ blasé attitude wasn’t helping. “I haven’t held up anyone with a knife, ever,” I insisted, inches from the guard’s face.
He shrugged. “He gave a pretty detailed description of you, and I’ve got to say it matches you well. And he wasn’t the only one—the cashier and three other customers also made some very good pictures of you.”
“Made pictures?” I shook my head like I was being bothered by a wasp. “What does that even mean?”
“I mean we rely very heavily on artists’ likenesses these days, and we’ve got some of the best here with all the crime that’s liable to happen in New Vegas.”
“So you’re saying that an artist has drawn pictures of me based on people’s descriptions?”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
“Well, can I see them? If I’m being accused of something, surely I’ve got the right to see the evidence against me?”
The guard sighed. Then he disappeared.
I rattled the bars. “Come on!” I hollered. I was beyond scared now. I’d been hearing some rumors about terrible punishments for non-capital offenses these days. And holding somebody up with a knife, stripping and cutting them? It didn’t sound good at all.
I was still clinging to the bars when the guard returned a couple of minutes later. “Here.” He held a stack of papers just out of reach and showed them to me one at a time. They were all artist’s drawings, in pencil and crayon, of a young woman with pale skin, big green eyes, a small snub nose, light freckling across her cheeks, lips that were full but narrow, and long, wild red hair. I gulped. All of them looked like me; some of them a lot like me.
“They’re not me. I agree there’s a slight resemblance, but no more than to any other pale-faced chick with red hair and green eyes. It’s not me.” I looked pleadingly at the guard, willing him to see the difference between my face and the artist’s
impressions. But he just straightened up the papers and disappeared without a word.
“Let me speak to this Isaac Platt then!” I shouted. But my voice echoed off the walls and there was no reply.
I went back to the bench and slumped on it. I didn’t even have energy to scream anymore. That was it then. They had all the evidence they needed, and they were probably going to hang me without even a trial. That’s what happened these days—or so I’d heard.
“What were the pictures like?” Zain called to me in a low voice.
“They looked a hell of a lot like me,” I said with a groan.
“How is that possible?” Rael muttered.
“You know what they say—everyone has their doppelgänger,” Oran said. And then there was an “ow!”
“How exactly is that going to help the situation?” Zain snarled.
“Sorry! I guess that was insensitive. I was just trying to understand,” Oran said.
“Maybe try to understand in your own head,” Rael snapped. “It’s going to be fine, Ranger. We’ll get to the bottom of this. And obviously the real perpetrator’s out there somewhere.”
“Thanks, guys,” I muttered.
Everyone fell silent. None of us had anything else to say. The situation was so ridiculous, and there seemed to be no way out of it. I tucked my feet up on the bench and wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to visualize being free and on the road again. Doing my best not to flip out completely. The guys were muttering to each other, but too softly for me to figure out what they were saying.
“Ranger?” A voice whispered. Oran’s?
“What?” I whispered back.
“I can get out of here if I need to. I’m pretty sure I can squeeze through the bars.”
“Congratulations,” I muttered.
“I mean, there’s hope. Then I’ll try to figure out a way to help the rest of you.”
“Good to know,” I said without enthusiasm, thinking of the gun barrel that had just been pointed at my face. What use would an eagle be if they could shoot him out of the sky?
But guilt began to pluck at me. “Sorry, Oran. I know you were trying to make me feel better,” I whispered.
“Whatever,” came the reply.
Around two hours later, voices drifted from somewhere else in the prison. I lifted my head. They were men’s voices, getting closer. A figure appeared at the door. He was tall and slim, with longish, curlyish black hair slicked back from his face, long, sculpted sideburns, and violet-colored eyes. Good looking in a flashy way. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and a gray vest that matched his pants, and he had a red handkerchief in the pocket of his black jacket.
“Who are you?” I demanded from my seat on the bench.
He took a step closer and wrapped his fingers around the bars. “I’m Isaac Platt,” he said in a deep, reverberating voice that reminded me of a circus ringmaster. “And you’re the little criminal who attacked me and robbed my casino. And believe me, you’re going to pay for it.”
I sprang to my feet, invigorated by outrage. As I came to the bars, I noticed there was a slash mark on his right cheek, running from an inch below his eye and extending as far as his sideburn. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. Much less cut you or robbed you,” I said, much more assertively than I was feeling.
He tapped at the bars with his fingertips. “You scarred me for life. And humiliated me in front of a lot of people. You’ll pay for this.”
“I’ve done nothing,” I spat, and a snarl burst from my throat as my wolf rose to the surface.
He looked at me long and hard. “Show me your back.”
“No. Why the hell would I do that?”
“I left my own brand on you. Let’s see it, and everyone will see how guilty you are,” he sneered, revealing white teeth with pointed canines.
“What kind of a brand?” asked swamp eyes, who was standing close beside him.
Platt sniffed. “I defended myself. As she was running away, I gave her a cut of my own. Sliced her shirt clean through.”
“And it drew blood?” the guard said, frowning.
“Oh, yes,” Platt said, starting to enjoy himself. “Took me a while to get the blood off my knife, too. Wouldn’t be surprised if it went through to the bone.”
“Take your shirt off and show him your back,” the guard said.
I did it. I yanked the shirt right over my head and tore my bra off, too. Just then, I didn’t give a crap who saw me naked. I just wanted to prove to this loser that he’d gotten the wrong person. “There.” I pulled all my hair off my back, tucked it over my shoulder, and stood very close to the bars with my back to them.
“Flawless,” the guard breathed. “Cut through to the bone, you say? With a lot of blood?”
“Yes,” Platt said slowly, his voice dull with disappointment.
“There’s not a single mark on this back, is there?”
“What’s going on?” Zain shouted from the adjacent cell.
“This good gentleman is scrutinizing my naked back and concluding that there’s no way he injured me while I was running away from him yesterday,” I said flatly.
“So it’s not her, is it?” the guard said. “She’s not the one who attacked and robbed you?”
“I suppose she isn’t,” Platt muttered. My wolf itched to tear his face off. He was disappointed that someone wasn’t going to be punished. I was sure he didn’t even care whether I was the guilty one or not, as long as somebody paid.
“But she must be related,” he continued. “She’s the spitting image of the other one. Is she a relative of yours?”
I picked up my shirt and pulled it over my head, then I turned to face him and came up very close. “I don’t know any Carrie,” I said very slowly through gritted teeth.
“If she’s a relative of yours, I understand why you’re protecting her,” he said, his tone becoming wheedling.
I gripped the bars in my frustration. “For the last time, I don’t know who this woman is who attacked you. I don’t have any relatives. If she looks like me, it’s just a coincidence—” I broke off. Because an echo of his pain hit me in the chest. And then something changed in his face; all the furious passion had dissipated.
“You’re going to tell the guards to let us all go now, aren’t you?” I said softly.
He nodded. “Yes, yes I am.” He turned to the guard. “I no longer want to pursue charges against this woman and her friends. I’m satisfied you can release them.”
The guard nodded, took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door.
I retrieved my bra from the bench, relief crashing through me like a tsunami.
The moment the guys’ door was opened, Zain charged through and took me in his arms, squeezing me tight. A sob burst out of my throat, and I clamped my lips together.
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, rubbing my back. “It’s all over, and nothing’s going to hurt you again.” When he released me, Rael instantly hugged me, followed by Oran. They didn’t say anything; they didn’t need to.
We made a beeline for the exit.
“You better tell that Carrie we’ll catch up with her before long,” Platt hollered after us. “They’ll be nowhere for her to hide.”
“Fuck him,” Oran snarled. “I hope somebody gives him a death of a hundred cuts.”
“I’d be only too happy to oblige. But let’s get the hell out of here,” Rael said.
As soon as we left the prison, we started running, worried about the wagon and the horses and all our things. My heart hammered as we approached, but the rear door was still zipped closed and a glance inside showed that nothing was missing. “Thank God.” I rested my butt against the rear of the wagon and took several deep, trembling breaths.
When I straightened up again, Rael gave me another hug. “I was so scared for you,” he whispered in my ear. “We’re going to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”
I looked up at him and knew that he meant it. And for the
first time in a long time, I wanted to be protected.
Chapter 11
The guys insisted I traveled in the wagon. I sat on the mattress, huddled up in the blankets, and avoided looking out as New Vegas receded far into the distance. It wasn’t cold, but I couldn’t stop shivering. That was the closest I’ve come to ruin in a long time. It made me realize that I’d been lucky in the past months, traveling around by myself, believing I could live on my wits.
Who the hell was this Carrie anyway? Had this been a very bizarre, one-off situation, or was my evil doppelgänger going to follow me around? All I knew was I couldn’t take any more of it. Thank goodness the guys had been there, even ending up in jail in their attempts to protect me. I leaned against the side of the wagon and closed my eyes for a while, giving myself over to the constant rocking motion. These horses were faster than the bay and the gray, I noted, but the ride was bumpier.
So much for working in New Vegas today. Instead, we’d lost the better part of the day, and it was already late afternoon. And I was hungry. I’d burned off this morning’s breakfast in pure nervous energy.
“Ranger?” a voice whispered. My eyes snapped open. I’d been dozing, half in a dream located somewhere in my childhood. Zain was walking at the back of the wagon.
“Hey,” I said sleepily.
“Can I come up?”
“Of course.” I shuffled along the mattress to make room for him, and he sat down beside me.
“I won’t stay for long because I don’t want to wear the horses’ legs out on the first day,” he said. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
I sighed. “Better, now. It was a bit of a shock, wasn’t it?”
“It scared the hell out of all of us,” he said, his eyes bright with worry.
“Do you believe me when I say I have no idea who that girl is?”
“Of course. We trust you, Ranger. And we know that attack had nothing to do with you.” He laid his hand on my arm. It felt nice, more than nice. “What is it?” He continued to watch me. “You look kind of…I don’t know…disgusted? Ashamed?”
