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The foul odors from the sewers emptying into the waterways, drifted over the city. To Sam, it smelled like bloody shit. Hell, he hated the city. The sooner he got Ivy and got the hell out of town, the happier he’d be.
At the correctional building, he saw a single lamp burning from the main office. Inside, he found one of the sheriff’s deputies sitting at his desk doing paperwork. At Sam’s entrance, he looked up, not in the least surprised to see him.
“Marshal said you might be by to pay us a visit.”
“I just want five minutes.”
“You’re too late.” The man told him and Sam felt all his hopes come crashing down in one huge wave of pure anguish, until the man sighed and said, “He was here earlier and took her over to the jailhouse to await her execution in the morning.”
Christ. He flew out of the building, taking the steps two at a time. Leaping back on his horse, he kicked him hard and tore across town. A quick glance up to the sky and it still appeared black as the night.
He paid no mind to his surroundings as he flew past through the crowded city with its multi-story buildings. When he reached the station’s entrance, he came to a screeching halt when he saw Roy sitting calmly in a wooden chair.
“Where is she?”
“You made good time.” He calmly got to his feet and pulled out a cigar from the inside of his coat.
“Where is she, Roy?”
He looked at Sam and he could read the look of disappointment on his face. “You always had too soft of a heart. Knew it that day I had to put old Almo down, but in the end you came to realize I was right. It was the right thing to do.”
“You’re not right this time, Roy,” he told him. “She’s innocent.”
“Is that why you came? To break her out?” His brows rose. “And then do what? You’re going to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
Instead of replying, he asked instead, “Why did you wire me before her execution?”
He took a long drag on his cigar before answering. “Because you needed closure. You weren’t able to do that with your mother or with Daphne, but this one you can.”
“You wanted me to watch her hang?”
“That’s right. See her for who she truly is.”
“And what if you’re wrong?”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at Sam closely. Then quietly told him with full sincerity, “I only wish I was.”
“Give me five minutes.”
He sighed, not happy with the request, but glanced over to the desk where a lone officer sat. “Would you escort Mr. Michalski to Ivy McGregor’s cell?”
Sam gave him a silent nod of gratitude. If it was all he had, he would use his five minutes effectively.
He followed the officer to a long corridor where a heavy wooden door sat at the far end. He opened it and proceeded down another corridor. This one made mostly of iron rails. It was at the end of these that he slid a key into the gated door and opened it for Sam to proceed. “Stay to your right. She’s in the last cell.”
Before him was a set of stairs leading to a row of cells located in the lower part of the prison. The officer removed a kerosene lamp from the wall and lit it before handing it over to Sam. After taking his first few steps, the gate locked shut behind him. Making his way further down the stairs, Sam took note of the thick stone and concrete walls. They smelled damp and moldy.
On the opposite side, the corridor was lined with iron cells no bigger than horse stalls. Raising his lantern, he peered into the first one. It was dark and filthy, but empty. The second cell revealed it too was unoccupied and when he reached the third, he almost thought it was also vacant until he spotted her huddled in a dark corner.
Inside, something felt as if it literally died. He winced, knowing her fear of small quarters. “Ivy?”
He knew she wouldn’t be sleeping. Her head slowly raised and she squinted over at him. He lowered the lamp to remove the light from shining in her eyes. “Sam?”
He paused to take in her appearance. She looked strained and pale, yet her copper hair stood out in contrast like a ball of fire in the glow of the lamp. “How’s your ankle?”
“What are y’doing here?”
“To finish this.” He spoke quietly, not wanting the officer to overhear. “Are you able to walk?”
