When the Devil Came to Pluto 2/4
J2 RPS AU
PG
Part 2 of 4
Master post
Art
The theater was full, and as the red velvet curtains parted in front of the stage, Jared leaned back in his chair and prepared to be entertained. The show was a full program of dancing and singing. There was also some Shakespeare, for the sophisticates in the audience: a violent, bloody, and silent reenactment of parts of Macbeth, costarring Sebastian, the slightly taller one of Alona's fellow actors, and a prolonged death scene from Romeo and Juliet, with Anton, the other actor, enthusiastically portraying the dying Romeo. It did not escape Jared's notice that Alona's entourage was entirely made up of dark-haired men, leaving her as not only the only woman, but the only blonde. An audience made up of mostly men would always be drawn to the one pretty girl on stage, and her hair made her hard to miss.
There was a brief intermission, during which Jared and Jensen went up to the box seats to ask Danneel's opinion and hopefully meet her gentleman friend, but the gentleman in question had gone to get himself a drink and was nowhere to be found.
After the show Jared and Jensen tried to get backstage to meet Alona properly and tell her how much they liked it, but Misha the manager barred their way and asked them politely to come back tomorrow night, because she was tired.
“Tomorrow the show will be different,” he added. “You must come.”
So they did. The theater was just as full, and Jared noted that a couple of Danneel's girls were there, each with a nicely-dressed gentleman on her arm. He wondered idly what their company cost for an evening at the theater, and if the price included anything other than simple companionship.
During the intermission they went outside to say hello to Christian, who was taking the opportunity to get some air and have a cigarette in peace. They talked about the performances and whether or not Alona was really Russian royalty, and although Christian enjoyed the singing and the very funny segment from A Midsummer Night's Dream, which had replaced the death scene from Romeo and Juliet, he wasn't interested in Alona's background, real or imagined.
“You're boring,” Jared said.
“You're rude,” Jensen told him.
“You have this fantastic history,” Jared went on, ignoring Jensen. “I'd think you'd be interested in other people's.”
“You'd be wrong,” Christian said.
Jared's disappointment clearly showed on his face, because Christian patted him on the shoulder and told him to cheer up. Lots of people were speculating about Alona's past. Jared didn't need him to do it too.
“You can always make something up,” Christian added, and went back inside the theater.
Jared and Jensen got backstage after the show this time, where Ruthie, one of the girls, was waiting with her gentleman friend. All the gentleman wanted to do was tell Alona he'd seen a performance of Macbeth in St Louis, and her Lady Macbeth was much better.
“Are you going to compare me to someone else, too?” she asked Jared and Jensen, smiling at them. She looked smaller off-stage, in a dressing gown and with her hair down, her face scrubbed clean of her stage makeup. The dressing room wasn't very big to begin with, but Alona's costumes and props, wigs and hats and trunks, made it feel small and cramped, especially with Jared and Jensen inside and Misha hovering just outside the door.
“You're a much better Juliet than our friend Rich,” Jensen commented, and she laughed.
“Am I prettier?”
“He wouldn't say so, but yes.”
“We came last night too,” Jared said. “Is every show going to be different?”
“I don't know,” she said. “As you can see, we certainly have enough costumes. We have a large repertoire, so we'll see.”
“What's New York like?”
“Cold. We were there in the winter. Bustling. Exciting.”
“What about Paris?” Jensen asked.
“Beautiful and cultured and sweeping away its own history. Paris is heaving with people, every one of them unutterably, unapologetically French. If you want to know about Paris you should ask Anton - he's spent the most time there.”
Jared could believe it, for no other reason than Anton had more of an accent than either Alona or Misha, and according to Danneel his French was very good. Sebastian had yet to say anything on stage in a language Jared could understand.
“What's St Petersburg like?” he asked, hoping that was the way to get her to confess either her royalty or her lie.
“Like Paris, beautiful and cultured. It wants to be sophisticated and civilized and European, but under its polished veneer, it's still Russian.” She grinned impishly. “You still want to know if I'm really a princess.”
“You're not going to tell us, are you,” Jensen said.
“No,” Alona said, grinning again. “Now if you don't mind, gentlemen, I'd like to get dressed. I'm glad you liked the show. Both nights.”
Misha let them out and they walked back to Danneel's for a drink.
“I told you she wasn't going to tell us,” Jensen said to Jared. It was a nice night, balmy and dry with a faint breeze. Men went from saloon to saloon or headed towards the miners' camp. Jared watched someone emerge from the general store and make his way down the street towards Danneel's closest competition, a saloon trying desperately to turn itself into a brothel by dint of hiring prettier girls to work the upstairs rooms. Jared didn't think any of the girls were as attractive as the ones at Danneel's house, and he knew for a fact that Danneel treated hers better. Her saloon was almost an afterthought, a place for men to kill some time before or after meeting with a lady, and not really an end in itself. It was half a parlor and not even entirely saloon, anyway.
It was only Jared and Jensen who regularly treated Danneel's place as more of a saloon than a brothel, but she paid them to keep an eye on the place. Everyone else, one way or another, had to pay for the privilege of taking up space in her house.
Eddie was cleaning up and getting ready for bed when Jared and Jensen arrived, much to Jared's disappointment.
“Do you need a snack?” Samantha asked him, noting his hangdog look when he slid down the bar to get himself a drink. Something about her tone of voice made him think of his mother, and he wondered, not for the first time, if she had a husband and children stashed somewhere.
Someday he'd have to ask her. It was a story he'd like to hear, if she wanted to tell it. He could easily invent a history, but hearing it from her mouth would be better.
“Can you make me something?” he asked.
“I'm sure Eddie is keeping something warm just in case. Stay here.” She patted his hand and disappeared.
While she was gone, three men and Rachel all wanted drinks, and Jared was about to go behind the bar himself and start pouring when Samantha reappeared. She carried a plate holding several slices of roast between two pieces of bread.
“Did you know,” she said, “the sandwich was invented by a nobleman who didn't want to stop playing cards long enough to eat dinner?”
“I do now,” Jared said. “Thanks. Put it on my tab.”
She just winked and asked one of the men waiting impatiently what he wanted.
Jared thought he heard the man mumble that he was going down the street next time, and chuckled. As if anywhere else in Pluto had girls as pretty and as nice as the ones here. As if the saloons down the street were any kind of competition.
It was a Monday night, so Jared wasn't expecting trouble from anyone, but two men got into an argument over Alaina, which she tried to smooth over by promising her time to both of them - not at the same time, of course, although maybe she should have suggested that. Then a rancher came to see Rachel, left apparently satisfied, and returned an hour later to accuse both her and the house of stealing from him. He went out on his ass after pulling his pistol on Kim, and when one of the men fighting over Alaina threw a punch at the other man, Jensen bounced him out as well. Samantha brought the victim a towel for his nose, which was bleeding all over his shirt, and Alaina sat with him for fifteen minutes, playing nurse for free.
Danneel wasn't happy about any of it. She herself told the man with the towel against his face that he wasn't welcome unless he could behave, and if he ever raised his voice in her house again she'd have him thrown out. He tried to blame the man who'd punched him, then he tried to blame Alaina, and when he failed to be contrite in any fashion, she told him to leave. Jared and Jensen stood behind her, both of them wearing their six-shooters and trying to loom, to help her make her point.
The man left. Alaina started to argue with Danneel, who interrupted to tell her they'd discuss it later, and in the meantime there were better-behaved men who would enjoy her company, and who deserved it more.
“Is there a full moon?” Danneel sighed later, tallying up the evening's security expenses. “What's wrong with people?”
Jared opened his mouth but Jensen elbowed him in the ribs and said “Don't start howling.” Jared's teeth clacked together as he closed his mouth.
There was indeed a full moon, and Jared indulged himself by howling at it as he and Jensen walked home. Somewhere a dog started to bark, and Jensen laughed. Jensen had a great laugh, and Jared couldn't help but join in.
Life in Pluto wasn't always easy but it also wasn't generally life-threateningly dangerous. At least it wasn't until a couple of days later, when the sheriff appeared at Danneel's looking for Jared and Jensen, to ask them to take a job for him on behalf of the mine's owner. A crate of mining equipment was being held up in Albuquerque, and the sheriff suspected that representatives of law and order might have a quicker time retrieving it than a besuited representative from the mine.
Rob and Rich were in the brothel as well, Rob to see Rachel and Rich to play some poker and kill time until Rob was done, so Sheriff Morgan included them in his offer.
“They should get you a horse and cart to bring the equipment back here,” he said, “otherwise you have Mr Sheppard's permission to buy them. He'll reimburse you.”
“Do we get badges?” Rich asked.
The sheriff sighed. “Yes, you get badges. Temporary ones. You're there for one thing, so don't stay once you've found the crate. Mr Sheppard isn't paying you to goof off.”
Jared stifled a snicker. He and Jensen were more than capable of sticking to the plan and not wasting any time, but the chances of Rich finding an expensive distraction were pretty good.
“Why aren't you going?” Rob asked.
“Why isn't Mr Sheppard?” Jensen added. “You'd think the man who actually paid for the equipment would be the best person to retrieve it. You think whoever's holding it is going to look at us and just turn it over?”
“He asked me to do it,” the sheriff said. He looked less than pleased. Jared and Jensen had never had much of a problem with Mr Sheppard or the mine foreman, and when their services were required for peacekeeping they'd been paid promptly. But being the duly appointed sheriff meant that people felt they could ask anything of you at any time, and for all Jared knew, the mine owner thought Sheriff Morgan had more power outside Pluto than he really did.
Not that Jared or Jensen or Rob or Rich had that much themselves. But there were four of them and only one sheriff, and why shouldn't they take the opportunity to make a little extra money? How hard could it be, anyway?
So the four of them were sworn in as deputies for as long as it would take to ride to Albuquerque, get the crate of equipment, and escort it back. The sheriff had a couple of letters from Mr Sheppard, explaining his right to have his stuff, as well as a copy of the bill of sale for the equipment. Rob slipped them in his pack, Jared apologized to Danneel for not being around to watch out for her girls, Jensen asked Christian to keep an eye on the place, and they all loaded up their horses and headed out.
Albuquerque was a few days' ride and the weather held the first day. They made camp around sunset, built a fire, made dinner. Jensen rolled cigarettes for himself and Rob. Jared passed around the flask he'd gotten Samantha to fill before they left. When it was full dark they told ghost stories, Jared repeating some of his favorite Edgar Allen Poe stories and then letting Rich share a tale he knew.
Rich was winding down when Jensen held out a hand and told him to be quiet. Rich ignored him.
“Shut up,” Jensen hissed, and now Rich looked offended.
“What?” Jared asked.
Jensen just held his hand up, indicating they should all shut their traps.
“Don't you hear something?” he asked. “It sounds like a woman crying for help.”
Rob and Rich exchanged glances. Jared looked around. It was a cloudless night and the moon was just past full, but the flickering fire cast interesting shadows and it was difficult to see clearly beyond it.
“Who'd be out here all by herself?” Rob asked. “You sure you're not hearing things?”
“My story was very scary,” Rich said.
“Maybe it's a lost Indian girl?” Jared suggested.
“All alone? Then she'd be a trap.”
“Shut up, all of you,” Jensen snapped. He cocked his head, then stood. “Sounds like it's coming from over there. I'm going to look.” He pulled a branch out of the fire, held it up, and headed off. Jared and Rob and Rich watched him climb over some boulders and vanish from sight.
“You hear anything?” Rich asked the other two. Rob shook his head. Jared tried to listen, but all he could hear were pebbles sliding as Jensen climbed around. He remembered what the mine foreman had told them a week ago, about the miners hearing sounds at night, mysterious noises that could have been people crying or wind passing through the trees, nights when there wasn't any wind to be felt.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself, getting to his feet. They'd brought a couple of lanterns, so he lit one and went off in the direction Jensen had gone. If there really was a girl stuck back there, she might be hurt, and she might need two people to help her. Jensen was strong enough and he was carrying a makeshift torch, but it would be easier if he had someone else to light the way.
“Jensen?” Jared called. “Where are you? Did you find anyone?”
He thought he could hear someone or something moving around, but the wind could carry sound over miles, if there was nothing in its way, and even here, among the hills and rocks and scrub, there was no telling how near or far any given noise really was.
Jared made his way over rocks and across uneven ground, searching for Jensen and this potentially lost girl, but found nothing. He couldn't even see where Jensen's light had gone. He could hear someone, probably Rich, cry “For the love of god, Montresor!” followed by cackling and Rob yelling at him to shut up. But when Jared got back to the camp, Jensen was still missing.
He and Rob and Rich looked for several hours, as quietly as possible in case Jensen called out or his mysterious noise returned. Jared wished he'd picked someone other than Poe for his fireside stories. He could have shared so many different Greek myths - not scary, true, but entertaining all the same - but now, instead of thinking about the foibles of gods and the adventures of heroes, he was thinking about men being walled up alive. His heart pounded with anxiety as he tried not to contemplate what might have happened to Jensen.
It was as if Jensen had vanished off the face of the earth. Aside from some disturbed pebbles and dirt near their camp, where they'd seen Jensen walk off in search of the noise, there was no sign that he'd ever even been there. He hadn't dropped the branch he'd taken out of the fire. He hadn't shot off his pistols. He'd just disappeared, as in one of Jared's stories, into thin air.
Rob and Rich continued on to Albuquerque and Jared took Jensen's horse and headed back to town to gather a search party. He was starting to worry, even though Jensen was used to the trackless west, he was a careful climber, he was still wearing both his six-shooters, and he could take care of himself if he was lost for a day or so. It didn't help that after two days of searching, no one had found any indication of what might have happened. The search party returned to Pluto. Jared kept looking.
What if Jensen had fallen into a hole? What if he'd broken his ankle, or his leg? What if he'd been carried off by native warriors? What if he'd been set upon by wolves, and couldn't shoot them fast enough to save himself?
But he was only one man, and not a very important man at that. He wasn't the sheriff or the minister or Mr Sheppard. Pluto didn't have the resources or the inclination to send its people out into the wilderness to look for him for very long. Either Jensen had gotten lost and he'd make his way home eventually, or he was wounded or dead, and in that case there was nothing to do but either conduct a half-hearted search for the body or wait for someone else to find it and bring what was left back to town.
Jared couldn't accept any of that. Jensen was still alive. He could be hurt, or lost, or he could have been taken captive, or he could have fallen down a tunnel or into a cave. And wherever he was, whatever had happened to him, Jared had to find him.
Jared's mind ran away with itself, conjuring all kinds of scenarios. He had his own experiences in Texas and the New Mexico Territory to draw from, the experiences of the men and women in Pluto, the stories he'd read, the stories he'd heard. Jensen could be in danger. He could be dead.
He couldn't be dead. He wasn't dead. Jared refused to entertain the possibility.
The only other person who seemed as dedicated to finding Jensen was Christian, who'd led the search party and had stayed out when everyone else went back to town. Jared went to talk to him, to ask him to search among the remaining Navajo or Apache or any other tribes he could find, to ask if they knew anything, if they'd seen Jensen or helped him or hurt him. Christian wasn't even in town for a day before he packed up and went out again. He went west, as far as Jared could tell, or north, to search among the land's original inhabitants, the people among whom he still seemed to be most comfortable.
Jared had always liked him - Christian was a good guy in his own way, and the stories he was willing to tell about his years among the Indians were fascinating - but there was something unsettled about him, something wild and untamed like the warriors who had captured him when he was ten, who had taught him and raised him as their own. He wore a civilized skin most of the time and had more or less settled in Pluto like any other white man, and he may have been part of a good Protestant family for the first ten years of his life, but he'd grown to manhood among the Apache, and that part of his life was never far from the surface.
He was the perfect person to look for Jensen. He knew the land, he knew the people who still roamed it, he was dedicated, and he wasn't afraid.
But neither was Jared. The thought of losing Jensen forever was much more terrifying than anything that might be waiting for him out in the desert. He just had to figure out where Jensen might be, where he might have gone or where he might have been taken, and go that way.
He had no basis on which to judge. Jensen wouldn't have gone back to Dallas, where he'd been born and where his family still was, and he wouldn't have voluntarily left Pluto without Jared, but as to specifics about where he might have gone, Jared had no clue. So he asked around for advice. He called on Alona, because she'd seen more of the country than either he or Jensen had, and she was full of stories, which meant she was full of ideas and unintentional suggestions.
“There's a story my nana used to tell me,” she told Jared. “About a girl trapped in a mountain cave in Siberia, in the northern part of Russia. She was cursed to guard the Old Ones' treasure. You could hear her moaning, and if she caught you on her mountain, she'd take you down into her cave and no one would ever see you again. You could only break the curse and free her - and save yourself - if you could guess her real name.”
“What was it?” Jared asked. “What was her name?”
“No one knows. There's no end to that story. I never heard of a prince who would come and give her name back to her, who could lift the curse and rescue her.” Alona stirred her tea. “Nana used it as a cautionary tale - 'Stay away from the mountain or cursed girl will get you'. It used to scare my brother when we were little.”
Was that what had taken Jensen? Jared didn't know why a girl from the northern end of Russia would travel through her country to get to his - and he knew how big Russia was, he'd seen the globe in Genevieve's office in the back of the hotel - or why she'd take up residence in the desolate desert territories when her home was so cold and full of snow, or where she'd find a mountain to inhabit, but the land was riddled with caves and mines and who knew, maybe this Siberian girl had come to Pluto.
Had there been any Russians passing through, before Alona and her entourage? Jared tried to think. If Jensen had been taken, this girl might have snatched someone else, in the search for her real name. Had any boys gone missing recently?
There was that little boy from the wagon train who vanished in the snowstorm last fall. No one had even found his bones.
“Could that be it?” Alona asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Do the Indians have legends like that?”
“Did you hear about any missing boys, when you were doing shows in other towns?” Jared asked in response.
“Not that I remember. Why?”
“Maybe she took someone before she took Jensen.”
“Only if he crossed a mountain and trespassed on her land.”
We weren't trespassing, Jared thought. We were just passing through. People do it all the time.
And Jensen had definitely heard something, because he'd gone to investigate.
Would she even be Russian, this cursed girl hiding in a cave, if she was all the way out here? Would she be Apache? Pueblo? Navajo? He could ask Eddie or Christian, or he could if Christian hadn't already left on his own search, but Alona wouldn't know.
Maybe Danneel would, or one of her girls. Sometimes men were chatty with girls in private in a way they weren't in public. Maybe Genevieve had heard something from one of the hotel's guests. Jared could ask.
But none of them could help. Genevieve thought he was losing his mind. Alaina laughed at him outright. Samantha just sighed and patted his hand, as if she were his mother and he were being silly. Danneel told him to be careful.
“My girls talk,” she said, “you know that. Gossips, the whole house of them. If any of them had heard anything about Jensen, you'd know by now. But they're starting to think you've lost your mind.” She took his hand. “I know you miss him. I know you love him. But if you lose your head you'll never find him.”
“But that's what Alona told me,” Jared said, “that he could have been taken by a girl in a mountain, and if I knew her real name - “
“Alona's an actress. She's not even really Russian. You can't believe anything she tells you.”
“He's out there, somewhere. I have to find him. If he's in some abandoned mine somewhere, if he's some girl's prisoner, I have to get him. If he's in hell - “
“You'll end up there with him.”
But at least we'll be together, he thought.
You're talking like a crazy person, Jensen said in his head. Danny's right.
But I have to find you.
He couldn't ask Eddie about this girl, Jared realized. Eddie would tell him the desert had taken Jensen for her own, as tribute for Jared, Rob, and Rich traveling across the land. It could explain how Jensen had vanished without a trace, as if the earth had opened up beneath his feet and swallowed him whole. But how did you rescue someone from the desert? Jared believed in ghosts and banshees and the dangers of making deals at a crossroads, but he wasn't sure he believed in the evil personification of the land on which he lived. The minister would just say the devil took him, and Jared didn't believe in the devil either.
But Jensen did.
Maybe that was how this worked. It didn't matter what Jared believed. The only thing that mattered was Jensen's faith. Jensen would just laugh if he knew Eddie was saying the desert snatched him away, but he would understand the minister's opinion that it was the devil's doing.
And there was still Alona's story. What if there was truth in it? What if there was someone out there, taking unwary travelers down into a hidden cave? Jared needed to be prepared. But he didn't know how to fight this Siberian girl. The best he could do was make a list of likely names, just in case.
Chad dragged him to the undertaker's as a joke, to be fitted for a coffin.
“If you get lost in the desert,” the undertaker said, “you won't need a coffin. The vultures and the coyotes will pick you clean.”
The undertaker, Mr Richings, looked like a walking cadaver, which was appropriate, and he was very serious, which was also appropriate. Rumor said he'd been an actor and a singer and a dancer before he came to Pluto. Jared liked that story, weird as it was, and it made him like the undertaker more.
“Hm,” Mr Richings said now, stretching a tape measure across Jared's shoulders. “Hmm.”
“I won't need it,” Jared said. “I'm going to find Jensen and bring him back.”
Neither Chad nor the undertaker had a response for that, and even if they did, Jared wouldn't have listened.
* * *
The devil left no clues as to where he and his captive had gone. All the residents of the town turned out to look, but the devil was crafty and his hiding-places were many, and his departure was swift and silent. The younger, taller man was distraught. He had lost his best friend, his near-brother, and there were no clues left behind.
He saddled his horse and rode east.
* * *
Jared set out with his rifle and his six-shooters and a tiny gold crucifix on a chain, which he borrowed from Brianna on condition that he return it intact. He had bullets and full canteens and saddlebags packed with provisions. He had Jensen's tobacco pouch and half-empty pack of rolling papers. He had his compass. He had a flask of holy water and a little bag of salt and an iron nail. He didn't have the girl's name, if Jensen had indeed been taken by the cursed girl from Alona's story, and he didn't have a bible, in case Jensen had been taken by the devil. But he had his own desperation, and his own desire, and his own love. And he would find Jensen or die trying.
The farther he traveled, the fewer caves and mines there were, the more Jared thought about Jensen and the more he became convinced that Alona was wrong, that Jensen hadn't been taken by a Russian girl cursed to guard a treasure, who would take you down into her cave forever if she caught you on her mountain. This wasn't a country made for girls from cold and snowy parts of the world. As much as Jared loved it - and he did love it - this was the devil's country, dry and unwelcoming and unforgiving.
And the devil had taken Jensen.
But Jared was going to go to hell and bring him back.
That was so easy to say, he discovered, but not so easy to accomplish. He knew his sister-in-law thought anything west of San Antonio was hell, the hot desert and what was left of the Tonkawa and Apache and Comanche, Mexicans and wild men and sinners and lunatics. She'd married into a family of restless wanderers, the lot of them always heading west, but she'd planted her stake and was going to stay.
The New Mexico Territory was a vast place. Even Texas, official state that it was, was boundless and trackless and immense, even with the railroad, even with the slowly growing towns and cities and the mapping influence of settlers and government men. And if the entire country west of his birthplace was hell, if the devil could be anywhere, where would he even look?
According to the minister, hell was fire and brimstone, but Jared had read too much to believe it was the same for everyone. Sisyphus had to push a boulder up a hill for eternity. Tantalus was condemned to have a rushing river and vines laden with grapes just out of his reach. Midas's own daughter turned to gold when he touched her. Dante's heretics were trapped in burning tombs, but the gluttonous were stuck in disgusting mud and freezing rain.
And Jared was wandering across scrubland and desert, looking for his best friend.
He followed the sunrise, thinking that Eden was supposed to be in the east, that Adam and Eve, once banished from the Garden, had gone west. Paradise was east, and Jensen wasn't in Paradise, but the snake had been there too, to tempt Eve into eating the apple, and if the snake - if Satan - was in Eden, could he still be there? Could hell be nearby?
Jared shook his head. He wasn't even a religious man, never mind a biblical scholar. He was following his own crazy. He needed Jensen for this.
He tried to think rationally, or as rationally as a man could when he was convinced the devil had taken the person he loved most. Cain had gone west, after killing his brother. He'd absented himself from god. Had he traveled to the land of the devil? Where else would the world's first fratricide go, but to hell? Not literally, not while he lived, but it was a metaphor, wasn't it? He was in a kind of mental hell from having killed his brother and left the presence of his god.
But Jared couldn't work with metaphors, not out here. The desert was too concrete, too real. And he couldn't reduce Jensen down to the mere object of his quest, the mental goal for his internal search.
All the same, he needed a direction, and east seemed as good a one as any. So he kept going that way, towards the sunrise, towards civilization, towards the places his parents and grandparents had come from, and away from the spot where Jensen and vanished.
There were canyons out here, cliff faces, hills. Places where the devil might hide. There were streams so he could refill his canteens and so his horse could drink, and there was the occasional jackrabbit or small scuttling creature he could trap and skin for dinner. It wasn't winter yet. He wasn't going to freeze at night, and he knew enough to keep himself and his horse from dying of thirst, and in the end, he had his desperate need to find Jensen to keep himself alive.
It was a lonely ride, and every so often the thought that he was going to get lost out here would intrude. His compass kept him going in the right direction, and he made note of bodies of water and other landmarks, but the land was big and he was small, and there was a lot of ground to cover. He could head straight into the sunrise until he came to the Mississippi, and then he could turn north or south and come back, turn around and go back, turn around and go back, crisscrossing Texas and the New Mexico Territory until years had passed and he was no closer to getting Jensen back.
He couldn't think about that. He couldn't think about the many ways in which he could fail. He could only think about the many ways that would take him to success.
Jared talked to himself, to his horse, to Jensen, wherever he was. He tried to sing, but he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket and had to stop, embarrassed. There was no one and nothing to hear him and he was so used to Jensen's singing that his own voice sounded wrong even to him.
At night he would stake his horse, make a little fire, eat something, roll himself in his blanket, and stare at the sky. He'd never been much of a praying man and wasn't going to start now - it seemed hypocritical to only talk to god when you needed something - so he would talk to Jensen, or tell his horse stories, or reassure him that it shouldn't be much longer, they'd find Jensen soon and go home.
Onward!
PG
Part 2 of 4
Master post
Art
The theater was full, and as the red velvet curtains parted in front of the stage, Jared leaned back in his chair and prepared to be entertained. The show was a full program of dancing and singing. There was also some Shakespeare, for the sophisticates in the audience: a violent, bloody, and silent reenactment of parts of Macbeth, costarring Sebastian, the slightly taller one of Alona's fellow actors, and a prolonged death scene from Romeo and Juliet, with Anton, the other actor, enthusiastically portraying the dying Romeo. It did not escape Jared's notice that Alona's entourage was entirely made up of dark-haired men, leaving her as not only the only woman, but the only blonde. An audience made up of mostly men would always be drawn to the one pretty girl on stage, and her hair made her hard to miss.
There was a brief intermission, during which Jared and Jensen went up to the box seats to ask Danneel's opinion and hopefully meet her gentleman friend, but the gentleman in question had gone to get himself a drink and was nowhere to be found.
After the show Jared and Jensen tried to get backstage to meet Alona properly and tell her how much they liked it, but Misha the manager barred their way and asked them politely to come back tomorrow night, because she was tired.
“Tomorrow the show will be different,” he added. “You must come.”
So they did. The theater was just as full, and Jared noted that a couple of Danneel's girls were there, each with a nicely-dressed gentleman on her arm. He wondered idly what their company cost for an evening at the theater, and if the price included anything other than simple companionship.
During the intermission they went outside to say hello to Christian, who was taking the opportunity to get some air and have a cigarette in peace. They talked about the performances and whether or not Alona was really Russian royalty, and although Christian enjoyed the singing and the very funny segment from A Midsummer Night's Dream, which had replaced the death scene from Romeo and Juliet, he wasn't interested in Alona's background, real or imagined.
“You're boring,” Jared said.
“You're rude,” Jensen told him.
“You have this fantastic history,” Jared went on, ignoring Jensen. “I'd think you'd be interested in other people's.”
“You'd be wrong,” Christian said.
Jared's disappointment clearly showed on his face, because Christian patted him on the shoulder and told him to cheer up. Lots of people were speculating about Alona's past. Jared didn't need him to do it too.
“You can always make something up,” Christian added, and went back inside the theater.
Jared and Jensen got backstage after the show this time, where Ruthie, one of the girls, was waiting with her gentleman friend. All the gentleman wanted to do was tell Alona he'd seen a performance of Macbeth in St Louis, and her Lady Macbeth was much better.
“Are you going to compare me to someone else, too?” she asked Jared and Jensen, smiling at them. She looked smaller off-stage, in a dressing gown and with her hair down, her face scrubbed clean of her stage makeup. The dressing room wasn't very big to begin with, but Alona's costumes and props, wigs and hats and trunks, made it feel small and cramped, especially with Jared and Jensen inside and Misha hovering just outside the door.
“You're a much better Juliet than our friend Rich,” Jensen commented, and she laughed.
“Am I prettier?”
“He wouldn't say so, but yes.”
“We came last night too,” Jared said. “Is every show going to be different?”
“I don't know,” she said. “As you can see, we certainly have enough costumes. We have a large repertoire, so we'll see.”
“What's New York like?”
“Cold. We were there in the winter. Bustling. Exciting.”
“What about Paris?” Jensen asked.
“Beautiful and cultured and sweeping away its own history. Paris is heaving with people, every one of them unutterably, unapologetically French. If you want to know about Paris you should ask Anton - he's spent the most time there.”
Jared could believe it, for no other reason than Anton had more of an accent than either Alona or Misha, and according to Danneel his French was very good. Sebastian had yet to say anything on stage in a language Jared could understand.
“What's St Petersburg like?” he asked, hoping that was the way to get her to confess either her royalty or her lie.
“Like Paris, beautiful and cultured. It wants to be sophisticated and civilized and European, but under its polished veneer, it's still Russian.” She grinned impishly. “You still want to know if I'm really a princess.”
“You're not going to tell us, are you,” Jensen said.
“No,” Alona said, grinning again. “Now if you don't mind, gentlemen, I'd like to get dressed. I'm glad you liked the show. Both nights.”
Misha let them out and they walked back to Danneel's for a drink.
“I told you she wasn't going to tell us,” Jensen said to Jared. It was a nice night, balmy and dry with a faint breeze. Men went from saloon to saloon or headed towards the miners' camp. Jared watched someone emerge from the general store and make his way down the street towards Danneel's closest competition, a saloon trying desperately to turn itself into a brothel by dint of hiring prettier girls to work the upstairs rooms. Jared didn't think any of the girls were as attractive as the ones at Danneel's house, and he knew for a fact that Danneel treated hers better. Her saloon was almost an afterthought, a place for men to kill some time before or after meeting with a lady, and not really an end in itself. It was half a parlor and not even entirely saloon, anyway.
It was only Jared and Jensen who regularly treated Danneel's place as more of a saloon than a brothel, but she paid them to keep an eye on the place. Everyone else, one way or another, had to pay for the privilege of taking up space in her house.
Eddie was cleaning up and getting ready for bed when Jared and Jensen arrived, much to Jared's disappointment.
“Do you need a snack?” Samantha asked him, noting his hangdog look when he slid down the bar to get himself a drink. Something about her tone of voice made him think of his mother, and he wondered, not for the first time, if she had a husband and children stashed somewhere.
Someday he'd have to ask her. It was a story he'd like to hear, if she wanted to tell it. He could easily invent a history, but hearing it from her mouth would be better.
“Can you make me something?” he asked.
“I'm sure Eddie is keeping something warm just in case. Stay here.” She patted his hand and disappeared.
While she was gone, three men and Rachel all wanted drinks, and Jared was about to go behind the bar himself and start pouring when Samantha reappeared. She carried a plate holding several slices of roast between two pieces of bread.
“Did you know,” she said, “the sandwich was invented by a nobleman who didn't want to stop playing cards long enough to eat dinner?”
“I do now,” Jared said. “Thanks. Put it on my tab.”
She just winked and asked one of the men waiting impatiently what he wanted.
Jared thought he heard the man mumble that he was going down the street next time, and chuckled. As if anywhere else in Pluto had girls as pretty and as nice as the ones here. As if the saloons down the street were any kind of competition.
It was a Monday night, so Jared wasn't expecting trouble from anyone, but two men got into an argument over Alaina, which she tried to smooth over by promising her time to both of them - not at the same time, of course, although maybe she should have suggested that. Then a rancher came to see Rachel, left apparently satisfied, and returned an hour later to accuse both her and the house of stealing from him. He went out on his ass after pulling his pistol on Kim, and when one of the men fighting over Alaina threw a punch at the other man, Jensen bounced him out as well. Samantha brought the victim a towel for his nose, which was bleeding all over his shirt, and Alaina sat with him for fifteen minutes, playing nurse for free.
Danneel wasn't happy about any of it. She herself told the man with the towel against his face that he wasn't welcome unless he could behave, and if he ever raised his voice in her house again she'd have him thrown out. He tried to blame the man who'd punched him, then he tried to blame Alaina, and when he failed to be contrite in any fashion, she told him to leave. Jared and Jensen stood behind her, both of them wearing their six-shooters and trying to loom, to help her make her point.
The man left. Alaina started to argue with Danneel, who interrupted to tell her they'd discuss it later, and in the meantime there were better-behaved men who would enjoy her company, and who deserved it more.
“Is there a full moon?” Danneel sighed later, tallying up the evening's security expenses. “What's wrong with people?”
Jared opened his mouth but Jensen elbowed him in the ribs and said “Don't start howling.” Jared's teeth clacked together as he closed his mouth.
There was indeed a full moon, and Jared indulged himself by howling at it as he and Jensen walked home. Somewhere a dog started to bark, and Jensen laughed. Jensen had a great laugh, and Jared couldn't help but join in.
Life in Pluto wasn't always easy but it also wasn't generally life-threateningly dangerous. At least it wasn't until a couple of days later, when the sheriff appeared at Danneel's looking for Jared and Jensen, to ask them to take a job for him on behalf of the mine's owner. A crate of mining equipment was being held up in Albuquerque, and the sheriff suspected that representatives of law and order might have a quicker time retrieving it than a besuited representative from the mine.
Rob and Rich were in the brothel as well, Rob to see Rachel and Rich to play some poker and kill time until Rob was done, so Sheriff Morgan included them in his offer.
“They should get you a horse and cart to bring the equipment back here,” he said, “otherwise you have Mr Sheppard's permission to buy them. He'll reimburse you.”
“Do we get badges?” Rich asked.
The sheriff sighed. “Yes, you get badges. Temporary ones. You're there for one thing, so don't stay once you've found the crate. Mr Sheppard isn't paying you to goof off.”
Jared stifled a snicker. He and Jensen were more than capable of sticking to the plan and not wasting any time, but the chances of Rich finding an expensive distraction were pretty good.
“Why aren't you going?” Rob asked.
“Why isn't Mr Sheppard?” Jensen added. “You'd think the man who actually paid for the equipment would be the best person to retrieve it. You think whoever's holding it is going to look at us and just turn it over?”
“He asked me to do it,” the sheriff said. He looked less than pleased. Jared and Jensen had never had much of a problem with Mr Sheppard or the mine foreman, and when their services were required for peacekeeping they'd been paid promptly. But being the duly appointed sheriff meant that people felt they could ask anything of you at any time, and for all Jared knew, the mine owner thought Sheriff Morgan had more power outside Pluto than he really did.
Not that Jared or Jensen or Rob or Rich had that much themselves. But there were four of them and only one sheriff, and why shouldn't they take the opportunity to make a little extra money? How hard could it be, anyway?
So the four of them were sworn in as deputies for as long as it would take to ride to Albuquerque, get the crate of equipment, and escort it back. The sheriff had a couple of letters from Mr Sheppard, explaining his right to have his stuff, as well as a copy of the bill of sale for the equipment. Rob slipped them in his pack, Jared apologized to Danneel for not being around to watch out for her girls, Jensen asked Christian to keep an eye on the place, and they all loaded up their horses and headed out.
Albuquerque was a few days' ride and the weather held the first day. They made camp around sunset, built a fire, made dinner. Jensen rolled cigarettes for himself and Rob. Jared passed around the flask he'd gotten Samantha to fill before they left. When it was full dark they told ghost stories, Jared repeating some of his favorite Edgar Allen Poe stories and then letting Rich share a tale he knew.
Rich was winding down when Jensen held out a hand and told him to be quiet. Rich ignored him.
“Shut up,” Jensen hissed, and now Rich looked offended.
“What?” Jared asked.
Jensen just held his hand up, indicating they should all shut their traps.
“Don't you hear something?” he asked. “It sounds like a woman crying for help.”
Rob and Rich exchanged glances. Jared looked around. It was a cloudless night and the moon was just past full, but the flickering fire cast interesting shadows and it was difficult to see clearly beyond it.
“Who'd be out here all by herself?” Rob asked. “You sure you're not hearing things?”
“My story was very scary,” Rich said.
“Maybe it's a lost Indian girl?” Jared suggested.
“All alone? Then she'd be a trap.”
“Shut up, all of you,” Jensen snapped. He cocked his head, then stood. “Sounds like it's coming from over there. I'm going to look.” He pulled a branch out of the fire, held it up, and headed off. Jared and Rob and Rich watched him climb over some boulders and vanish from sight.
“You hear anything?” Rich asked the other two. Rob shook his head. Jared tried to listen, but all he could hear were pebbles sliding as Jensen climbed around. He remembered what the mine foreman had told them a week ago, about the miners hearing sounds at night, mysterious noises that could have been people crying or wind passing through the trees, nights when there wasn't any wind to be felt.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself, getting to his feet. They'd brought a couple of lanterns, so he lit one and went off in the direction Jensen had gone. If there really was a girl stuck back there, she might be hurt, and she might need two people to help her. Jensen was strong enough and he was carrying a makeshift torch, but it would be easier if he had someone else to light the way.
“Jensen?” Jared called. “Where are you? Did you find anyone?”
He thought he could hear someone or something moving around, but the wind could carry sound over miles, if there was nothing in its way, and even here, among the hills and rocks and scrub, there was no telling how near or far any given noise really was.
Jared made his way over rocks and across uneven ground, searching for Jensen and this potentially lost girl, but found nothing. He couldn't even see where Jensen's light had gone. He could hear someone, probably Rich, cry “For the love of god, Montresor!” followed by cackling and Rob yelling at him to shut up. But when Jared got back to the camp, Jensen was still missing.
He and Rob and Rich looked for several hours, as quietly as possible in case Jensen called out or his mysterious noise returned. Jared wished he'd picked someone other than Poe for his fireside stories. He could have shared so many different Greek myths - not scary, true, but entertaining all the same - but now, instead of thinking about the foibles of gods and the adventures of heroes, he was thinking about men being walled up alive. His heart pounded with anxiety as he tried not to contemplate what might have happened to Jensen.
It was as if Jensen had vanished off the face of the earth. Aside from some disturbed pebbles and dirt near their camp, where they'd seen Jensen walk off in search of the noise, there was no sign that he'd ever even been there. He hadn't dropped the branch he'd taken out of the fire. He hadn't shot off his pistols. He'd just disappeared, as in one of Jared's stories, into thin air.
Rob and Rich continued on to Albuquerque and Jared took Jensen's horse and headed back to town to gather a search party. He was starting to worry, even though Jensen was used to the trackless west, he was a careful climber, he was still wearing both his six-shooters, and he could take care of himself if he was lost for a day or so. It didn't help that after two days of searching, no one had found any indication of what might have happened. The search party returned to Pluto. Jared kept looking.
What if Jensen had fallen into a hole? What if he'd broken his ankle, or his leg? What if he'd been carried off by native warriors? What if he'd been set upon by wolves, and couldn't shoot them fast enough to save himself?
But he was only one man, and not a very important man at that. He wasn't the sheriff or the minister or Mr Sheppard. Pluto didn't have the resources or the inclination to send its people out into the wilderness to look for him for very long. Either Jensen had gotten lost and he'd make his way home eventually, or he was wounded or dead, and in that case there was nothing to do but either conduct a half-hearted search for the body or wait for someone else to find it and bring what was left back to town.
Jared couldn't accept any of that. Jensen was still alive. He could be hurt, or lost, or he could have been taken captive, or he could have fallen down a tunnel or into a cave. And wherever he was, whatever had happened to him, Jared had to find him.
Jared's mind ran away with itself, conjuring all kinds of scenarios. He had his own experiences in Texas and the New Mexico Territory to draw from, the experiences of the men and women in Pluto, the stories he'd read, the stories he'd heard. Jensen could be in danger. He could be dead.
He couldn't be dead. He wasn't dead. Jared refused to entertain the possibility.
The only other person who seemed as dedicated to finding Jensen was Christian, who'd led the search party and had stayed out when everyone else went back to town. Jared went to talk to him, to ask him to search among the remaining Navajo or Apache or any other tribes he could find, to ask if they knew anything, if they'd seen Jensen or helped him or hurt him. Christian wasn't even in town for a day before he packed up and went out again. He went west, as far as Jared could tell, or north, to search among the land's original inhabitants, the people among whom he still seemed to be most comfortable.
Jared had always liked him - Christian was a good guy in his own way, and the stories he was willing to tell about his years among the Indians were fascinating - but there was something unsettled about him, something wild and untamed like the warriors who had captured him when he was ten, who had taught him and raised him as their own. He wore a civilized skin most of the time and had more or less settled in Pluto like any other white man, and he may have been part of a good Protestant family for the first ten years of his life, but he'd grown to manhood among the Apache, and that part of his life was never far from the surface.
He was the perfect person to look for Jensen. He knew the land, he knew the people who still roamed it, he was dedicated, and he wasn't afraid.
But neither was Jared. The thought of losing Jensen forever was much more terrifying than anything that might be waiting for him out in the desert. He just had to figure out where Jensen might be, where he might have gone or where he might have been taken, and go that way.
He had no basis on which to judge. Jensen wouldn't have gone back to Dallas, where he'd been born and where his family still was, and he wouldn't have voluntarily left Pluto without Jared, but as to specifics about where he might have gone, Jared had no clue. So he asked around for advice. He called on Alona, because she'd seen more of the country than either he or Jensen had, and she was full of stories, which meant she was full of ideas and unintentional suggestions.
“There's a story my nana used to tell me,” she told Jared. “About a girl trapped in a mountain cave in Siberia, in the northern part of Russia. She was cursed to guard the Old Ones' treasure. You could hear her moaning, and if she caught you on her mountain, she'd take you down into her cave and no one would ever see you again. You could only break the curse and free her - and save yourself - if you could guess her real name.”
“What was it?” Jared asked. “What was her name?”
“No one knows. There's no end to that story. I never heard of a prince who would come and give her name back to her, who could lift the curse and rescue her.” Alona stirred her tea. “Nana used it as a cautionary tale - 'Stay away from the mountain or cursed girl will get you'. It used to scare my brother when we were little.”
Was that what had taken Jensen? Jared didn't know why a girl from the northern end of Russia would travel through her country to get to his - and he knew how big Russia was, he'd seen the globe in Genevieve's office in the back of the hotel - or why she'd take up residence in the desolate desert territories when her home was so cold and full of snow, or where she'd find a mountain to inhabit, but the land was riddled with caves and mines and who knew, maybe this Siberian girl had come to Pluto.
Had there been any Russians passing through, before Alona and her entourage? Jared tried to think. If Jensen had been taken, this girl might have snatched someone else, in the search for her real name. Had any boys gone missing recently?
There was that little boy from the wagon train who vanished in the snowstorm last fall. No one had even found his bones.
“Could that be it?” Alona asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Do the Indians have legends like that?”
“Did you hear about any missing boys, when you were doing shows in other towns?” Jared asked in response.
“Not that I remember. Why?”
“Maybe she took someone before she took Jensen.”
“Only if he crossed a mountain and trespassed on her land.”
We weren't trespassing, Jared thought. We were just passing through. People do it all the time.
And Jensen had definitely heard something, because he'd gone to investigate.
Would she even be Russian, this cursed girl hiding in a cave, if she was all the way out here? Would she be Apache? Pueblo? Navajo? He could ask Eddie or Christian, or he could if Christian hadn't already left on his own search, but Alona wouldn't know.
Maybe Danneel would, or one of her girls. Sometimes men were chatty with girls in private in a way they weren't in public. Maybe Genevieve had heard something from one of the hotel's guests. Jared could ask.
But none of them could help. Genevieve thought he was losing his mind. Alaina laughed at him outright. Samantha just sighed and patted his hand, as if she were his mother and he were being silly. Danneel told him to be careful.
“My girls talk,” she said, “you know that. Gossips, the whole house of them. If any of them had heard anything about Jensen, you'd know by now. But they're starting to think you've lost your mind.” She took his hand. “I know you miss him. I know you love him. But if you lose your head you'll never find him.”
“But that's what Alona told me,” Jared said, “that he could have been taken by a girl in a mountain, and if I knew her real name - “
“Alona's an actress. She's not even really Russian. You can't believe anything she tells you.”
“He's out there, somewhere. I have to find him. If he's in some abandoned mine somewhere, if he's some girl's prisoner, I have to get him. If he's in hell - “
“You'll end up there with him.”
But at least we'll be together, he thought.
You're talking like a crazy person, Jensen said in his head. Danny's right.
But I have to find you.
He couldn't ask Eddie about this girl, Jared realized. Eddie would tell him the desert had taken Jensen for her own, as tribute for Jared, Rob, and Rich traveling across the land. It could explain how Jensen had vanished without a trace, as if the earth had opened up beneath his feet and swallowed him whole. But how did you rescue someone from the desert? Jared believed in ghosts and banshees and the dangers of making deals at a crossroads, but he wasn't sure he believed in the evil personification of the land on which he lived. The minister would just say the devil took him, and Jared didn't believe in the devil either.
But Jensen did.
Maybe that was how this worked. It didn't matter what Jared believed. The only thing that mattered was Jensen's faith. Jensen would just laugh if he knew Eddie was saying the desert snatched him away, but he would understand the minister's opinion that it was the devil's doing.
And there was still Alona's story. What if there was truth in it? What if there was someone out there, taking unwary travelers down into a hidden cave? Jared needed to be prepared. But he didn't know how to fight this Siberian girl. The best he could do was make a list of likely names, just in case.
Chad dragged him to the undertaker's as a joke, to be fitted for a coffin.
“If you get lost in the desert,” the undertaker said, “you won't need a coffin. The vultures and the coyotes will pick you clean.”
The undertaker, Mr Richings, looked like a walking cadaver, which was appropriate, and he was very serious, which was also appropriate. Rumor said he'd been an actor and a singer and a dancer before he came to Pluto. Jared liked that story, weird as it was, and it made him like the undertaker more.
“Hm,” Mr Richings said now, stretching a tape measure across Jared's shoulders. “Hmm.”
“I won't need it,” Jared said. “I'm going to find Jensen and bring him back.”
Neither Chad nor the undertaker had a response for that, and even if they did, Jared wouldn't have listened.
* * *
The devil left no clues as to where he and his captive had gone. All the residents of the town turned out to look, but the devil was crafty and his hiding-places were many, and his departure was swift and silent. The younger, taller man was distraught. He had lost his best friend, his near-brother, and there were no clues left behind.
He saddled his horse and rode east.
* * *
Jared set out with his rifle and his six-shooters and a tiny gold crucifix on a chain, which he borrowed from Brianna on condition that he return it intact. He had bullets and full canteens and saddlebags packed with provisions. He had Jensen's tobacco pouch and half-empty pack of rolling papers. He had his compass. He had a flask of holy water and a little bag of salt and an iron nail. He didn't have the girl's name, if Jensen had indeed been taken by the cursed girl from Alona's story, and he didn't have a bible, in case Jensen had been taken by the devil. But he had his own desperation, and his own desire, and his own love. And he would find Jensen or die trying.
The farther he traveled, the fewer caves and mines there were, the more Jared thought about Jensen and the more he became convinced that Alona was wrong, that Jensen hadn't been taken by a Russian girl cursed to guard a treasure, who would take you down into her cave forever if she caught you on her mountain. This wasn't a country made for girls from cold and snowy parts of the world. As much as Jared loved it - and he did love it - this was the devil's country, dry and unwelcoming and unforgiving.
And the devil had taken Jensen.
But Jared was going to go to hell and bring him back.
That was so easy to say, he discovered, but not so easy to accomplish. He knew his sister-in-law thought anything west of San Antonio was hell, the hot desert and what was left of the Tonkawa and Apache and Comanche, Mexicans and wild men and sinners and lunatics. She'd married into a family of restless wanderers, the lot of them always heading west, but she'd planted her stake and was going to stay.
The New Mexico Territory was a vast place. Even Texas, official state that it was, was boundless and trackless and immense, even with the railroad, even with the slowly growing towns and cities and the mapping influence of settlers and government men. And if the entire country west of his birthplace was hell, if the devil could be anywhere, where would he even look?
According to the minister, hell was fire and brimstone, but Jared had read too much to believe it was the same for everyone. Sisyphus had to push a boulder up a hill for eternity. Tantalus was condemned to have a rushing river and vines laden with grapes just out of his reach. Midas's own daughter turned to gold when he touched her. Dante's heretics were trapped in burning tombs, but the gluttonous were stuck in disgusting mud and freezing rain.
And Jared was wandering across scrubland and desert, looking for his best friend.
He followed the sunrise, thinking that Eden was supposed to be in the east, that Adam and Eve, once banished from the Garden, had gone west. Paradise was east, and Jensen wasn't in Paradise, but the snake had been there too, to tempt Eve into eating the apple, and if the snake - if Satan - was in Eden, could he still be there? Could hell be nearby?
Jared shook his head. He wasn't even a religious man, never mind a biblical scholar. He was following his own crazy. He needed Jensen for this.
He tried to think rationally, or as rationally as a man could when he was convinced the devil had taken the person he loved most. Cain had gone west, after killing his brother. He'd absented himself from god. Had he traveled to the land of the devil? Where else would the world's first fratricide go, but to hell? Not literally, not while he lived, but it was a metaphor, wasn't it? He was in a kind of mental hell from having killed his brother and left the presence of his god.
But Jared couldn't work with metaphors, not out here. The desert was too concrete, too real. And he couldn't reduce Jensen down to the mere object of his quest, the mental goal for his internal search.
All the same, he needed a direction, and east seemed as good a one as any. So he kept going that way, towards the sunrise, towards civilization, towards the places his parents and grandparents had come from, and away from the spot where Jensen and vanished.
There were canyons out here, cliff faces, hills. Places where the devil might hide. There were streams so he could refill his canteens and so his horse could drink, and there was the occasional jackrabbit or small scuttling creature he could trap and skin for dinner. It wasn't winter yet. He wasn't going to freeze at night, and he knew enough to keep himself and his horse from dying of thirst, and in the end, he had his desperate need to find Jensen to keep himself alive.
It was a lonely ride, and every so often the thought that he was going to get lost out here would intrude. His compass kept him going in the right direction, and he made note of bodies of water and other landmarks, but the land was big and he was small, and there was a lot of ground to cover. He could head straight into the sunrise until he came to the Mississippi, and then he could turn north or south and come back, turn around and go back, turn around and go back, crisscrossing Texas and the New Mexico Territory until years had passed and he was no closer to getting Jensen back.
He couldn't think about that. He couldn't think about the many ways in which he could fail. He could only think about the many ways that would take him to success.
Jared talked to himself, to his horse, to Jensen, wherever he was. He tried to sing, but he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket and had to stop, embarrassed. There was no one and nothing to hear him and he was so used to Jensen's singing that his own voice sounded wrong even to him.
At night he would stake his horse, make a little fire, eat something, roll himself in his blanket, and stare at the sky. He'd never been much of a praying man and wasn't going to start now - it seemed hypocritical to only talk to god when you needed something - so he would talk to Jensen, or tell his horse stories, or reassure him that it shouldn't be much longer, they'd find Jensen soon and go home.
Onward!