“No,” swore the bounty hunter, “they’ll never take me!” Bitterness ate into his shattered heart, “I’d left them.”

“What are you talking about?” she managed through her shock.

“All I loved died,” wept Cassidy, “while I was away at war.”

“That’s not—”

“WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW OF IT, murderess?!” be bellowed. Bounties, the devious ones, would try to pry into him, if it meant freedom.

Kathyleen dug nails into his chest, “The ONE I loved tried to murder me! When I would not share him with another, I tried to leave that CHEAT!” Back she looked, “He isn’t one to let you go.”

In Kathyleen “Hellcat” Midhir’s heart, she still loved him. A damning flame that burned, which filled her with a passion no other could inspire. No matter his sin or act of brutality, upon his heart her devout passion consumed to a cinder to be reborn every glance. Something about his eyes, that smile, that bedeviled her. To his flame she was drawn, even when it branded. Helpless it was to draw away, for Sean always made her feel anew.

As she longed for the nights of passion and pain, out of shadow a rider was born. The horse was darker than the night, a stain of purest shadow. Unrelenting gallop cast up earth and flame, left smoke and dust. Eyes seeped molten brimstone, breath was of sulfur. Muscles of the steed were unyielding. Never did it flag or waver, but moved by the will of its rider. From the depths of some black choked lake of fire it had come, unbowed and unbroken, to serve the Highwayman.

Cassidy pushed the horse to its limit; yet, closer the dark Saint drew. With one hand he pulled a cut down shotgun from the saddle bag. The blasts dazzled. True was his aim. Slugs tore away the high collar, flesh inside, but it grew back. Dark hair was tugged by the wind. Jaw heroic, he smiled. Pain amused, the Highwayman had all the bravado of the young and invincible.

“Sean,” wept Kathyleen, “what have you done?”

Cassidy shoved the shotgun into her hands, and ordered her to reload it. She done as commanded, numb from the revelation; although, she had suspected it. With a careless smile, the Highwayman gained, and he held a hand out to Kathyleen. Endless lust, for pleasure, pain, or gold, lived in the damned eyes. Hand about Cassidy’s chest loosened, and the gun was ripped from her. Both triggers dropped the hammers with a clean click, and to shadows Sean’s shattered skull was cast.

The Highwayman fell into the night, but it was a temporary reprieve. Unsettled black was left behind. Even the Ghost Riders in the Sky had withdrawn. Deadly hands reloaded the shotgun and revolver. Against his back the wild maiden, of vampire’s smile, cried.

Indeed, she confessed, Sean was killed by her hand, when her life he tried to take. That very night he came; in dream she fancied, but came to suspect something fantastic. Death had not quenched the flames of his heart. A dark salvation he offered. Lifeless, this was his first true freedom. Whispers in the night echoed, lingered, until madness would surely take her.

Love she declared. Surely, Kathyleen breathed, it was a twist of fate, which was pure. Resurrected to make the passion once again unbroken, he’d come. Sean was taken from judgment, raised to be redeemed. Inside the black heart of the rogue there was purity reserved for her, because of his Hellcat. Passion burned them, consumed. Angels had forgiven the hell worthy transgression. If only she could find a way to make him whole, away they would run from the Sheriff. Love would set him free of his father.

At this revelation, Cassidy stared. “The Sheriff is Sean’s father,” he frowned, but she flushed, for a secret had flown from lovely lips, red as fresh spilled blood. “Explains why he wants you dead,” added the bounty hunter.

Thoughts of murder and villainy rose, and up from the night, upon such darksome musings, flew the Dark Watchers. Adrift upon the night plutonian, they were battered and besieged by eddies of death’s remorseless storm. This gentle tempest, unrelenting and inexorable tossed the doomed on seas of black. Dreary, dismal sailors of fate fulfilled, were the currents. Drowned were the souls. Pitiful choked laments were smothered under the pitiless Cimmerian cataclysm. Woeful whispers prayed for rescue, which were choked by tormented waters, spectral shades. Forlorn, they lapped at this world’s edge. Though their fingers slipped through the sands, only life could give them purchase.

Above the dead, who drowned on death, dark wing birds circled. Sunless, cheerless shepherds of lustrous feathers and dead eyes cackled sullen. What word of empty fate they prothesized; destiny be damnation. An ill future was dark act’s reward. To this sepulchral design, their malevolent mirth portended. Foretold by act, self-fulfilling, darkness begot deviant, until destination chosen. Too late, foregone, they were mired in waves of black.

From the lips of fowl and damned, they said, “Cassidy.” In voices familiar, they spoke low, bedraggled.

As Kathyleen fell back, he knew this was no phantom born of madness. “Speak, specter,” he challenged, as a chill ran down his sweat soaked back. Black congealed; form wavered, yet into the night he came forth.

“My friend, my brother,” wept the bounty hunter.

Captain Barnabas Lee stood before Cassidy. Light gray eyes, once of a fierce storm, was now listless, faded. “Cassidy,” he said in a labored tone, “you must take care. Fate is a wheel, and you have the eye of fiends upon you.” Once again whole, his former officer was still lessened.

“Please,” he stepped towards the beleaguered phantom, “what kind of fate has befallen you?!”

“My choices are mine alone,” whispered Barnabas, “and my acts have damned me. The Black Witch owns me, even in death. One seeks to possess you.”

“This is impossible! You’re a good, honorable man, and a hero!”

“In my weakness, I chose poorly,” countered the Captain.