If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
"Dutch!" Swanson cried out, his voice cracking. "I went down... I found Dutch below! He doesn't breathe, Arthur! I shook him! No matter how I tried to wake him up to eat his breakfast, there's no response from him! He's cold! He's cold as stone!"
Hearing that, everyone in the room was shocked, of course. A heavy, suffocating silence slammed into the kitchen. Sadie covered her mouth, Charles closed his eyes, and John took a stunned step backward.
The man who had been their sun, the gravitational center of their entire existence for a long time until his descent to madness, the man they had locked away for their own survival, was dead.
Arthur and Hosea didn't waste another second. Their faces were set in grim, pale masks of sorrow and terrible finality. They pushed past Swanson and went down to the basement immediately, moving rapidly through the heavy wooden door situated directly on the kitchen wall that led to the stone cellar steps.
Caleb, standing at the bottom of the main staircase, holstered his revolver. He turned to Mary-Beth, whose face had gone completely white, her hand resting over her heart.
Caleb at this time told Mary-Beth, "Wait here. Don't come down." His voice was firm, protective, ensuring she wouldn't have to witness the grim reality of a corpse.
He turned and followed Arthur and Hosea through the kitchen door, his bare feet silent on the cold stone steps as he descended into the damp darkness.
As he walked down into the gloom, lit only by the flickering lantern Arthur had grabbed, Caleb's facial expression remained completely neutral. But inwardly, he is happy. He was profoundly, ruthlessly happy that Dutch Van der Linde had finally passed away.
The heavy dose of potassium bromide he had instructed Swanson to unknowingly administer had done its job flawlessly.
It had depressed Dutch's central nervous system to the point of complete respiratory failure. It was a clean, untraceable, and ultimately peaceful death for a man who had caused so much violent chaos.
When Caleb reached the bottom of the stairs, Arthur was already kneeling beside the pile of filthy blankets in the corner. Hosea stood behind him, leaning heavily against a wooden support beam, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes shining with unshed tears for a brother he had lost long before the man actually stopped breathing.
Dutch lay on his back, his eyes staring blankly at the stone ceiling, completely devoid of life. The frantic, manic energy that had defined him was entirely gone.
Arthur reached out with a trembling, calloused hand and gently closed Dutch's eyes. He bowed his head, letting out a ragged, shuddering breath.
"He's gone, Hosea," Arthur whispered into the damp air. "He's really gone."
Hosea nodded slowly, a single tear escaping to track down his weathered cheek. "Lord have mercy on his soul. Because the world sure didn't."
Caleb stepped fully into the lantern light. He looked at the corpse, feeling absolutely no remorse. Only three people knew why he died, which was him, Arthur, and Hosea. They were the architects of this necessary treason. They were the ones who knew the water had been poisoned to protect the family from the former leader and patriarch.
As the rest of the gang waited nervously upstairs, Caleb knew exactly how this narrative would play out. The rest would only know that he died naturally. The camp would mourn, yes, but they would also feel a profound, secret relief. They would rationalize it.
They would think of it as his heart finally giving out under the strain of his madness, or even think of it as his own karma for what he did to the entire gang and for being utterly, destructively selfish at the end.
"We did what we had to do, Arthur," Caleb said softly, his voice echoing slightly in the cold cellar. "His mind broke. His body followed. It was a matter of time."
Arthur didn't look up, his hands resting on his knees as he stared at the man who had raised him. "I know, Caleb. I know. Doesn't make it sit any easier in the stomach."
"We'll bury him out back," Hosea said, his voice finding a shred of its former strength. "Quietly. Give him a decent marker. But we don't speak of the madness. We let the others remember the man he used to be, before... before everything fell apart."
Caleb nodded his head in agreement. It was the cleanest, most efficient way to handle the fallout. The variable was permanently erased. The shadow that had loomed over their future in the Heartlands was finally banished.
Caleb looked at Dutch's still form one last time, a cold satisfaction settling deep in his bones. The game board was finally clear of its most unpredictable piece.
He turned his back on the dark, damp cellar, leaving Arthur and Hosea to their private, complicated grief. He walked back up the uneven stone steps, carrying the lantern that cast long, wavering shadows against the stone walls.
As he reached the top, he locked the heavy wooden doors behind him, the metallic click echoing with a sense of utter finality. He was sealing the ghost in the darkness forever, and he walked back toward the warmth and light of the main house, where Mary-Beth and his meticulously crafted future were waiting.
Stepping through the kitchen door, Caleb found that the commotion had drawn everyone. Caleb goes back upstairs to the main parlor area, where now literally the entire gang was present. They were huddled together, an anxious, frightened flock waiting for the shepherd's word. The air was thick with tension, the smell of breakfast completely forgotten.
John ll and Javier were standing near the front of the group. Their faces were pale, their postures rigid. At this time, John and Javier stepped forward and asked Caleb directly, their voices trembling slightly, if it's true. They asked if what Reverend Swanson had been screaming about was real, that Dutch is dead.
Caleb paused on the landing. He took a slow, deep breath, perfectly calibrating his physical and emotional projection. He put on his max level Persuasion and Acting Skill. His eyes softened into a look of profound, weary sorrow; his shoulders slumped just a fraction, mimicking the heavy burden of a tragic bearer of bad news.
He looked at John, then at Javier, before nodding his head slowly and gravely. "Yes," Caleb said, his voice a quiet, somber rumble that carried through the dead silent room. "Dutch is dead."
With the definitive confirmation from Caleb, a wave of shock crashed over the room. Everyone in the gang had mixed feelings as they processed the news, their faces a tapestry of conflicting emotions. For a man who had been a savior to some and a demon to others, his passing left a chaotic void.
Only Bill was the one who looked like he was physically gutted in the stomach when he heard of the news. Bill staggered backward, hitting the wall, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. To Bill, Dutch was practically a deity.
As for the others, many were visibly sad for his death, even after what he did and the terrible things he had said to them. Lenny wiped a tear from his eye, remembering the man who had taken him in.
Mary-Beth, standing near Caleb, covered her face with her hands, letting out a soft sob, grieving not for the monster in the basement, but for the charismatic leader she had once admired.
But some aren't sad, and a few were even a bit happy. Molly stood near the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was an unreadable mask of cold marble.
After all, she and Dutch had fallen out of their relationship entirely, he had discarded her, ignored her, and driven her to the brink of madness. Hearing he was gone brought a twisted sense of relief to her shattered heart.
And it was also Sadie who stood tall, her jaw set, projecting absolutely zero sorrow. She doesn't care about Dutch anymore. Her small, initial gratitude for the gang taking her in from the ashes of her ranch had long been turned to absolute despise for Dutch, especially after witnessing his selfish, destructive decisions that nearly got the entire gang killed. She just crossed her arms, looking at the floor with cold indifference.
The silence was suddenly shattered.
"How?!" Bill roared, his voice thick with a sudden, violent grief. He pushed himself off the wall, his fists clenched, his face turning a mottled red. Bill then, with a bit of a loud, accusing voice, asked how could this happen. "He was fine! He was strong! How does a man like Dutch just die in his sleep?!"
Caleb maintained his sorrowful facade. He shook his head slowly, saying he doesn't know for certain.
"I'm not a doctor, Bill," Caleb said smoothly, projecting a tone of melancholic reason. "But I think everyone here knew that Dutch mentally haven't been healthy for a long time. The stress, the concussions, the paranoia... maybe his mind just snapped and shut down completely."
Caleb looked around the room, letting his words weave a believable narrative. "When the mind gives up, the body follows. It caused the entirety of his body to slowly deteriorate. In the end, his heart just couldn't support his life anymore, even if he were given the nutritions needed to ensure his body is healthy. Swanson fed him, but you can't feed a dying soul."
Bill flew into a fit of rage after hearing that. The logic didn't soothe him, it only gave him a target.
"Then all of us shouldn't have agreed to put Dutch down there!" Bill screamed, spit flying from his lips as he pointed an accusing finger at Caleb, then at the kitchen door. "Only I disagreed! I told you! He needed the fresh air! He needed the sun and the sky, not to be just cooped up under there like an animal! It was because of that... it was because we locked him up that Dutch is dead! We killed him!"
Bill lunged forward, blinded by grief and misplaced loyalty, looking as though he might try to tear Caleb apart or storm the basement.
Instantly, the room reacted. Charles, Javier, and John leaped into action. They moved quickly to hold the big buffoon back. Charles grabbed Bill's left arm, Javier secured his right, and John shoved him back by the chest, their boots scuffling against the floorboards as they struggled to contain the massive, thrashing man.
"Let me go! Let me go!" Bill bellowed, thrashing wildly against his brothers.
Caleb's sorrowful expression vanished, replaced instantly by the terrifying, cold authority of the Saint Denis Underboss. He stepped forward with blinding speed. He bypassed John and Javier, reached out, and Caleb goes to slap him.
CRACK.
The sound of Caleb's open palm striking Bill's cheek was like a gunshot in the parlor.
The slap was incredibly forceful, snapping Bill's head to the side. The sheer shock of the physical blow, combined with Caleb's intimidating presence, instantly stunned Bill into silence. The big man froze in the grip of Charles and Javier, a red handprint blooming on his face.
Caleb didn't step back. He invaded Bill's personal space, his eyes boring into the larger man's soul, before then saying some words to knock some sense into him. He needed to open his mind to the cold, hard facts of the things Dutch had done to destroy this family.
"Listen to me, you blind, stubborn fool," Caleb hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl that commanded absolute attention. "You want to talk about who killed who? Let's talk about it. Dutch does so much reckless things causing the Pinkertons to knew where we are. He tried to leave Javier to die during that ambush. He led us into trap after trap, completely willing to sacrifice every man, woman, and child in this room for the sake of his own ego and his 'goddamn plans'."
Caleb pointed a finger directly at Bill's chest. "We locked him down there because if we didn't, we would all be swinging from a rope in Saint Denis right now, or bleeding out in the mud. We survived despite Dutch, not because of him. You mourn the man he was in the past before the madness took him, Bill. But that man has been dead for a long time. The thing in the basement was going to drag us all to hell. Remember that."
...
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: -