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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Dutch stared at him blankly for a long moment, his brow furrowing as if trying to grasp a concept that was slipping through his fingers like sand. A line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth, which he didn't seem to notice.
"Caleb..." Dutch mumbled, his head lolling slightly to the side. "Caleb... has a plan. We just need... more money. A boat... to Tahiti. The mangoes..."
The words slurred together, a pathetic, fragmented echo of his former delusions. He wasn't plotting revenge. He wasn't angry about being imprisoned. He didn't even seem to fully comprehend where he was. The poison had systematically dismantled his cognitive functions, inducing a state of deep, irreversible dementia.
Caleb stood in silence, watching the ruined man mumble to the shadows. He didn't feel the triumph he had expected. He didn't feel joy. He just felt a cold, clinical satisfaction that a necessary task had been accomplished.
Dutch van der Linde was no longer a threat. He was a ghost, haunting his own broken body, and he will be dead soon from the looks of it.
Caleb hung the lantern on a nail driven into a wooden support beam. He pulled a small stool over and sat down, watching Dutch for a long time.
"You're done, Dutch," Caleb whispered into the damp air, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Your war is over. You're never going to hurt anyone ever again. You're never going to be the ultimate demise of the gang. You're never going to lead Arthur to a mountain to die. You're never going to manipulate John into a crossfire. You're just going to sit here in the dark, and you're going to fade away."
Dutch didn't respond. He had picked up a small stone from the dirt floor and was staring at it intently, whispering to it in a language that only his poisoned mind could understand.
Caleb stood up. He had seen what he needed to see. The variable was eliminated. The Van der Linde gang was finally, truly safe from the monster that had created them.
He turned his back on Dutch van der Linde and walked back up the stone steps, carrying the lantern. He locked the heavy wooden doors behind him, sealing the ghost in the darkness, and walked back toward the warmth and light of the main house, where Mary-Beth and his future were waiting.
Returning back to the main house, the contrast between the damp, subterranean tomb of the cellar and the lively warmth of the homestead was jarring.
Inside, the house smelled of roasted meat, strong coffee, and the faint, sweet scent of lavender soap. As he moved down the short hallway, he found Mary-Beth waiting for him.
She was leaning to the side, her shoulder resting comfortably against the wall of the entrance of the kitchen. The soft, golden light from the kerosene lamps danced across her features, highlighting the gentle curve of her jaw and the intelligent sparkle in her eyes.
Seeing her waiting for him, a genuine anchor in his chaotic world, he let out a warm, unguarded smile. Mary-Beth, of course, returned the smile, her posture straightening as he approached. The relief of having him back home safe was still radiating from her every movement.
But the smile faded slightly as the gravity of his recent errand settled between them. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the sleeve of his duster, before then she asked him in a hushed tone how Dutch's condition was.
"Is it as bad as they say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is it as worse as what I heard from the conversation between Reverend Swanson, Arthur, and Hosea that I told you?"
Caleb stopped in front of her, his expression sobering. He nodded his head slowly, confirming her worst fears—or perhaps, her greatest hopes for the gang's safety.
"It's bad," Caleb said, keeping his voice low to ensure Pearson, who was clattering pots in the adjacent room, couldn't hear. "He looks like someone who has lost his mind. Truly lost his mind."
He paused, letting out a heavy sigh to play the part of the weary observer. "It's not like the previous times, Mary-Beth. Not like when we were up in the mountains or down in Lemoyne, where he just looked like he lost his sense of humanity and logic, making those crazy, destructive plans. This is different. This one... he looks like someone who has lost his way of thinking entirely. He's even losing the ability to recognize people."
Mary-Beth's eyes widened slightly in shock.
"I went down there," Caleb continued, shaking his head. "Dutch thought I was Arthur at first. And when I stepped into the light and told him I was Caleb... he didn't get angry. He didn't yell or demand to be let out. He didn't even react to the name. He just stared at a rock and started saying gibberish things to me. Nonsense about Tahiti and mangoes, slurring his words like a drunk who hasn't slept in a week."
Mary-Beth, hearing that, shook her head with a deep, complex sigh. She looked down at the floorboards, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.
"It's just... hard to hear," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly with the ghost of past loyalties. "While I don't have any ounce of respect or admiration left for him... and I certainly don't see him as a father figure anymore after he left Arthur to die and led us to ruin... I don't want him to suffer something like that. Losing your own mind in the dark..."
She looked back up at Caleb, her eyes shining with a mixture of pity and grim acceptance. "But maybe... maybe this is his retribution for what he has done to all of us. A punishment for the blood on his hands."
Caleb reached out, his calloused hand gently stroking the top of her head, his fingers threading through her soft hair.
"No need to think about it so deeply, Mary-Beth," Caleb said softly, his voice a comforting rumble. "Don't carry his weight. Whatever happens in the future to Dutch, just think it was God's work to keep all of us safe together. It's the only way we get to have a future."
Mary-Beth leaned into his touch for a moment, finding solace in his unwavering certainty. She nodded her head, accepting his words and pushing the dark thoughts of the basement away.
She took a deep breath, her demeanor shifting entirely. The shadows vanished from her face, replaced by a sudden, conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. Before then, she says to him that she actually has something to give to him as well.
Hearing that, Caleb raised his eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. He let his hand drop to her waist, pulling her a fraction closer. "Oh? What is it?"
Mary-Beth didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took his hand, her fingers interlacing with his, and led him away from the kitchen. She brought him up the wooden staircase to their shared room together on the second floor.
The room was a sanctuary, insulated from the rest of the gang. A large, comfortable bed took up the center, flanked by a sturdy oak desk covered in Mary-Beth's writing papers and inkwells, and a thick woven rug covering the floorboards. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm, flickering glow across the walls.
Upon entering into the room, Caleb closed the door behind them with a soft click, locking the world outside. He turned to her, letting out a low, teasing smile. His eyes darkened with affection and a sudden surge of heat.
"Oh, so this is what you have for me," Caleb teased, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped into her personal space. He backed her gently against the closed door, his hands coming to rest on her hips. "I have to say... I really like the gift, honey."
Before she could protest or correct his assumption, Caleb closed the final distance between them.
He captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss. The sudden intensity of it caught Mary-Beth off guard for a mere second before she melted against him, her arms coming up to wrap tightly around his neck. The kiss was hot and demanding, a physical release of the immense pressure Caleb had been under for the past week.
His hands, rough from gripping reins and gun grips, moved with urgent, possessive heat. He slid his hands up her waist, tracing the curve of her spine, pulling her flush against the hard planes of his chest. He could feel the rapid beating of her heart matching his own.
She responded with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, her mouth opening to deepen the kiss. The scent of her, lavender and sweet vanilla, was intoxicating, wiping away the lingering smell of Saint Denis smoke and basement dampness.
His lips left hers to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and down the sensitive skin of her neck. Mary-Beth let out a soft, breathless gasp, her head falling back against the door to give him better access.
One of his hands slid around to cup her thigh, lifting her leg slightly against his hip, the friction and the heat between them building rapidly into something intense and consuming.
It was passionate, heavy, and incredibly explicit in its intent, a desperate reclamation of each other after days of dangerous separation.
But just as Caleb was about to walk her backward toward the large bed, Mary-Beth's hands slid from his neck down to his chest. With a sudden, surprising burst of strength, it finally stopped with Mary-Beth pushing Caleb back.
She broke the kiss, taking many deep, ragged breaths. Her chest heaved, and her eyes were wide and dilated. She hit him a couple of times on the chest, light, playful slaps that carried absolutely no malice.
"No! Stop it, you brute," she scolded breathlessly, though her voice lacked any real conviction. Her face was very red, flushed with heat and a deep, beautiful blush that reached the tips of her ears. "It's... no, it's not this what I wanted to give to you!"
Caleb took a half step back, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked at her flushed, indignant expression and couldn't help himself. He chuckled, a rich, genuine sound of amusement that filled the room.
"Well," Caleb drawled, a wicked glint in his eye, "you can't blame a man for hoping. If it's not that, then what is it that you wanted to give?"
Mary-Beth huffed, smoothing down the front of her dress and trying to regain some semblance of composure. She stepped away from the door and walked over to the small end table near their bed.
At this time, she took an envelope from the end table. It was thick, made of high quality parchment, and sealed with a dollop of red wax. She walked back over and gave it to him.
Caleb took it, examining the elegant, embossed handwriting on the front.
Where she says that it was given to him by Jasper. "I went into town to visit the restaurant a couple of days ago," Mary-Beth explained, her blush finally beginning to recede. "Jasper was there, managing the front of house as usual. He told me he took it from the mail station."
She gestured to the letter. "He said that it had been sitting with him for a couple of days, waiting for you to come by. And it was said to be from the Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co."
Hearing that, Caleb's demeanor shifted from playful lover back to the calculating tycoon. The name alone sent a jolt of anticipation through him. He took the envelope firmly and thanked her for bringing it back for him.
"I appreciate it, Mary-Beth," Caleb said, tracing the wax seal. "Usually, Herr Strauss is the one who goes and checks in the mail station for me every couple of days to keep things organized. But he's been away."
Caleb explained briefly that he had sent the Austrian accountant away on a long term assignment. "Strauss, like you know, has been staying in Strawberry for the past two weeks, overseeing the construction and massive renovation of the Strawberry Lodge. I needed someone meticulous on the finances up there, so the mail here piled up."
And after that, he broke the wax seal and opened it.
He pulled out the folded, heavy parchment. Inside was a formal, meticulously typed letter addressed to him by Mahlon H. Marlin himself.
Caleb leaned closer to the lamplight to read the text. The letter was addressed to Caleb under his formal title, reporting to him, the Chairman and Majority Owner of the newly formed Marlin-Thorne Firearms Company.
Mahlon's tone in the letter was one of profound excitement and profound respect. The industrialist reported that because of Caleb's massive, immediate cash investment of 35,000 dollars, a staggering sum of capital in this era, the company had undergone an explosive transformation.
Dear Mr. Thorne, the letter read.
I am elated to report that the infusion of your capital has born immediate and tremendous fruit. We have managed to rapidly expand the physical footprint of the New Haven factory. Furthermore, we have successfully purchased and installed the new, state of the art milling and boring machinery needed to outpace Winchester's production capabilities. Our production lines are currently operating at maximum efficiency, and our lever action rifles are seeing unprecedented demand in the western markets.
Caleb smiled as he read. The money he had secured from the various gang stashes, bounties, and his own system rewards was already multiplying, transforming from dead paper into a sprawling industrial empire.
The letter continued, shifting from a report to a plea.
However, we are now looking to the horizon. And so, we are asking for your direction as the Chief Visionary of this enterprise as well. The machinery is in place, the steel is purchased, but we find ourselves needing your guidance for the innovation of our firearms.
As we discussed during our short, yet incredibly enlightening discussion back in Valentine before signing the deal, you mentioned concepts that could revolutionize the industry. We are ready to begin prototyping. We wish to take Marlin-Thorne to the next level, but we require the schematics and the visionary designs you promised.
I await your instructions eagerly.
With respect of rhis industry,
Mahlon H. Marlin.
Caleb smiled at this. It was a wide, triumphant smile. He had essentially bought one of the most famous firearms manufacturers in American history, and they were literally begging him to tell them what to build next.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 50x50x50)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 2)
- Leadership (Lvl 2)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 250,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -