Chapter Text
Butch was sat in an unfamiliar place, a blindfold over her eyes, and her hands and middle tied to a chair with rope. There was no escape. She was trapped. And all she could hope was that Annabelle was free. That Annabelle had made it out and got away. That even without her, especially without her, she would be okay.
Suddenly she hears footsteps and voices approaching, “Who’s there?” she cried, desperately, “Who’s there?”
Then the closer of the footsteps drew nearer, and she heard singing of all things, “The girl with the gun. Where is the girl with the gun?”
All Butch could think was ‘oh my god, I’m with a lunatic, a musical lunatic.’ But the voice continued singing, mocking her in her desperation.
A second voice stepped in, the farther of the footsteps settling beside her, “Officer McGillicuddy, you gonna take this one?”
“I think I’ll take this one for myself, thank you,” the first voice says, its singing having stopped, she could only hope forever.
‘I want the other guy,’ the voice in her head screams, ‘I want the other guy he seems pliable.’
“You need someone to play bad cop, I’m no good at that,” the second voice says, having wandered back towards what Butch assumes to be the door, a dry laugh escaping his mouth.
“Who’s there, take this blindfold off me,” Butch says as the footsteps depart, wanting to face the man holding her captive.
“I was once blind, but now I can see,” the man’s voice continues singing as he takes off her blindfold, subjecting her to the blinding light of a lamp directly in her face, “Because the girl with the gun, is the one for me.”
Butch looks across the room, eyes darting rapidly, trying to take in as much information as they can, still adjusting to the light. What she sees looks like some kind of apartment, not a police station. The apartment was unkempt and messy, truly the abode of such a lunatic this supposed ‘Officer’ would keep.
He spoke once more, “This shoe,” he held what Butch instantly recognised as one of Annabelle’s riding boots in her face.
She did the only thing she could in that moment, deflect with a joke, “It doesn’t smell that good,” ...she never was good at jokes.
He held it closer, and she breathed in the scent, yes it was full of sweat but it still had some of Annabelle’s perfume lingering. That sweet smell of berries she found on the outskirts of the farm, daisies with a woody hint to it. The perfume that Annabelle would make herself, though Butch never understood how. As the smell entered her nostrils she inhaled it deep into her lungs, longing for the girl.
“It smells so good,” she whispers, trying to keep it to herself though she knows that in the silent apartment the terrifying man behind her can hear it.
The man wanders lazily next to her, “I’ve been waiting my whole life to find that woman. And now... the Lord has put her upon me, and I have to find her.”
“You stay away from her, you stay away okay,” Butch says authoritatively, despite her position. She would protect Annabelle with her life. If it came down to one of the two, she had to ensure the blonde’s safety. Every time.
“Or what,” The man says darkly, lunging towards her.
“I’d never tell. She’s free,” Butch spits out, glad that the shorter had gotten away but sad that she wasn’t with her, “And we was gonna be free together. We were gonna take that money and leave. Her daddy would never have understood. And we were gonna be free together.”
She chokes up with the last two sentences, knowing that Mr. Parker would always have understood but the acknowledgement of that truth meant that she could’ve told Annabelle how she felt. But Annabelle would never return her affections and so she kept up the lie that he wouldn’t understand to save her from even more hurt. And now that she was trapped in this strange man’s apartment, she and Annabelle would never be free again.
The man spoke slowly and with force, “Where is the girl?”
His face was dark, there was a crazed look in his eyes, he was a man truly disturbed, and unfortunately, in that moment, Butch understood. Annabelle was the most beautiful creature that she had ever laid her eyes on, truly master with a pistol, the fastest fingers in the state, maybe not the best with words but a connoisseur with her charisma. Butch would’ve robbed a hundred banks if only to put a smile on her face. She knew how the man’s desperation felt, and yet, she knew that he would not treasure Annabelle like she did. Not in a possessive way, just that this man clearly viewed her as an object, a trophy, something that belonged to him and not with him.
“Fine,” Butch spoke up, hoping that he would fall for the dumbest, but only, trick in her book, “I’d tell you, just come closer.”
The man talks a step forward before pausing, “You can-” he gestures, “this is a good distance.”
“You would think so but come closer,” Butch tries again, her mind racing and heart pounding.
He bends down to put his ear to her mouth, still hesitant and Butch pulls her head back before slamming it into his as hard as she can. Blood begins rushing down her nose, clearly broken as the man loses his footing and falls to the ground in pain. Butch tries her hardest to get away, scooting the chair as quickly as she can away from the deranged individual.
“Oh that’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” he asks, getting his bearings with a dry laugh, “You’re gonna make it difficult. I didn’t want to make this difficult. But if I have to, I will.”
The man easily catches up to Butch and stands right behind her once again before circling around her like a vulture and its prey. She now realises that she has only moved further into the apartment.
“Billy, bring out the helium,” McGillicuddy says and through the door walks who Butch assumes is the previous second voice, leading a pig.
“Some of here is the most powerful delayed helium,” McGillicuddy explains and Butch is scared beyond belief.
He pulls a pipe out of the pig, which is horrifyingly inserted into the pigs back, presumably connected to its lungs and brings the end towards Butch’s mouth as the second man stands silently.
“No! I’d never talk! Doesn’t matter- doesn’t matter how high-pi-“ but Butch doesn’t finish her sentence as the tube is forcibly shoved into her mouth with no option other than to inhale.
Feeling the helium enter her lungs panic rises within the youn woman, “Doesn’t matter how high-pitched you make my voice-“
Her sentences once again cut off, despite the higher pitch it seems that the man wanted more unease and so pushed the pipe back in for a few seconds before removing it.
“Where is the girl with the gun?” he screams at her and suddenly she is breathless. He’s dropped the pipe and punched her in the stomach so hard that she’s winded.
Butch keeps her mouth shut, she won’t give Annabelle up, not now, not ever. She would keep her beloved safe. Even if it meant she would die to do so. The man makes eye contact with her and she shudders under his intense gaze.
“Where is the girl? Tell me now!” he demands, “I’m a busy man, I’m an officer, I have crimes to stop and bandits to catch, they’re giving me hell back at the station to find these bank robbers.”
He talks to her casually, but his words are dripping, laced with an iciness that freezes the blood in Butch’s veins. Still, she doesn’t speak, protecting her love, one-sided though it may be.
“Heh, little girl, cat got your tongue? Such a pity, you couldn’t shut up a second ago,” he says and that is when something slices in between her ribs, she looks down and sees the silver exiting.
He’d stabbed her, with one of her own knives, she realises as she no longer feels her dagger in her boot. Adrenaline finally sets in, but her mind is still racing, trying to find a way to keep Annabelle safe while also not dying.
“Such a shame, that she’s picked you I mean,” he says dismissively, “A little girl in pants trying to make-believe that she’s a boy. A man. Enough. Enough for the girl with the gun. You could never keep her in check, not like I can. Such a sweet songbird, trapped with a rattlesnake like you. Preying on her.”
He brings his face even closer to her still, empty hand taking off the bandana she used as a tie, pocketing it as well as the ring that kept it secure. He opens another button of her shirt, slightly further down and slides his hand slowly inside.
“You are no man, and the proof is right here,” he says, hand brushing softly against her breast. His breath mingling with hers and the sensation of skin on skin is making her skin crawl, she would try to wriggle free if she knew it wouldn’t mean more violence or the increase of pressure.
“And even if you were,” he says, hand travelling back up her chest, along the column of her neck and grasping firmly on her chin, making sure that they maintain eye-contact. “Your poverty would clip her wings, you could never provide for her like I can. What could you provide? A life of hand-to-mouth, only giving her what she needs, never giving her what she deserves. A farm hand doesn’t make much these days, whereas a lawman like me could keep her... satisfied.”
Butch pulls her head back and out of his grasp but he’s quick to stab her again, this time in her inner thigh, twisting the knife to drive home his point, making her scream out in pain. He held all of the cards, all aces, and Butch, Butch should fold given the shitty hand she was dealt. She always was a bit of a gambler though, she’s stayed in this town a lot longer than any other, having fallen in spite of herself for the very blonde firecracker she’s trying to save.
All she’s ever wanted was to find somewhere to stay. A forever town. She thought she’d finally found that here, a farm happy to keep her on for a while, a close relationship that she actually considers a friendship, even if she wishes it was more. Clearly that can’t be the case. Staying has brought her much more trouble, she loved the trouble at first, but this? This is more than she signed up for, she’s tired, she hurt, she just wants to rest.
Officer McGillicuddy doesn’t seem to care as he extracts the knife from her thigh slowly, ripping the wound open further. He runs the edge of the blade along her jawline as he slides his hand back under her shirt, cupping her breast and applying a much more forceful pressure. She shudders and the corners of his lips turn up into a smirk.
“You could’ve been a good wife to someone. Grow out your hair, wore dresses instead of britches, learned when to shut your mouth like you are now,” his scowl returns. “But now I’m going to need you to start singing, prove you’re the songbird, not the snake. So sing for me, little canary.”
Butch looks at him, desperation in her eyes as she struggles against her bindings and the sick man’s hands, “No, I won’t. You will never find out where she is, I’ll never say, you won’t break me.”
The man’s eyes darken, the knife finding its purchase resting just under her chin and free hand slipping the tightly grasp her hair, pulling her head back. Her breath quickens with panic, eyes darting around the incredibly unhelpful room, the other officer and the pig have left at some point and she’s once again trapped with only this delusional law man with a superiority complex.
“Annabelle,” Butch calls out, desperation becoming more visible, “Annabelle!”
“Come on now little girl, doesn’t even know you’re gone. Look around,” he takes a step back, arms out at his sides gesturing, “No one is going to save you.”
A bead of sweat drips from Butch’s temple, and a river of it runs down her back. She knows that he’s right. She’s doomed.
“But,” he says, twirling her knife in his hand, “you could still save her. The trade off is simple, you tell me where she is, I shoot you in the head, make your death quick and painless, marry the girl with a gun and give her a good life.”
“And if I don’t?” she barely grits out, her voice wavering more than she likes.
“I leave you alive just enough that when I do find her, she gets to watch you hang for not just robbing banks, but crimes against nature, and the Good Lord himself. If she denies my proposal? She’ll stand right by your side.”
Butch’s face blanches, no. She can’t hang, Annabelle can not hang. Especially not for a crime she hasn’t even committed. Butch would hang, she would hang today if it meant that Annabelle is safe. If Butch was gone then he wouldn’t hang Annabelle, he couldn’t, even if she did turn down his proposal. He’ll only let her hang to hurt Butch.
Butch is shaking, chills run through her body, another bead of sweat rolling down the side of her face. Was this really the decision she was going to make? Was this really how she was going to die, broken and bloody in a strange man apartment with a hole in her head?
“One last chance, are you going to tell me where she is? Or do we need to ready the gallows?” McGillicuddy asks, hand flexing at his hip.
Butch takes a deep inhale, blowing it out again before saying, “The Levitt’s farm. On the edge of the town outside of the city.”
Regret fills her the second the words tumble out of her mouth. What has she done?
The man bends down to her level, a hand carding through her hair, “Good girl.”
Butch closes her eyes and awaits the ring of a gunshot. A few moments pass and it never comes. She opens her eyes and sees the man across the room, fixing his rumpled shirt as best he can, and she blinks a few times. He looks over to her and smiles.
“What? You thought I was actually going to put you out of your misery? No, that would be too kind for a piece of filth like you,” he snarls, “I will give you one more gift before I leave though.”
He edges back over to her and brandishes her knife one more time. He takes it and makes a deep slice across her cheek, smiling, “I don’t even need you anymore, that one was just for fun.”
With that he walks throws the knife from him, far into the mess of a room, thumbs over her bandana in his pocket and walks out, closing the door behind him, humming his deranged song the whole time.