Part Six: Rest for the Wicked

	When Caleb did finally open his eye's again he had trouble realizing that in fact he had. There seemed to be nothing else around him but blackness. Nothing could be heard besides the muffled rustling of chains somewhere nearby, and nothing appeared to either stir or move anywhere in the near vicinity of his person. The only light it seemed was being provided by Caleb himself, and that was just the cold red illumination provided by the bloodlust that his eye's could never properly conceal anymore. Caleb tried his best to remember where he was and how he had got here, but his mind kept drawing a complete blank. For all he knew he could have just been out drinking too hard and all this was just the hangover. He rested his arms by his sides and inadvertently felt for knife that he always kept strapped to his right leg, but found the weapon to be missing. Now concerned, Caleb searched the interior of his trench coat for his most prized of possessions.

	His sawed-off was not there either. All of his friends seemed to have deserted him. Caleb quickly shot a hand up to his face and felt for the brim of his hat. He found it, thankfully, and now felt relieved that he had saved the search for his best friend for last; at least this way he still felt compelled to count his blessings. With that thought, others began to spill into his head, as a clearer recollection of the happenings of the previous night suddenly flooded into the old gunslinger's mind. Caleb released a very deep and a profoundly annoyed sigh. This caused something to shuffle in the corner of the room opposite from where Caleb was sitting. Maybe he was not as alone as he thought. Caleb quickly turned only to see a huge pair of petrified eyes starring right back at him. 

	"What?" Caleb asked incredulously. Something about the way the person gawped seemed to him to be disrespectful somehow.

	"Your.. your.. eyes" an evidently male voice stuttered out, sliding even further back into the corner of what Caleb had now finally taken to be their cell. Upon seeing this, Caleb's thoughts on the boy turned into a far gentler feeling of amusement. 

	"Oh, that's just my fiery personalty" Caleb answered sarcastically, before casually reaching into one of his trench coat pockets. There were still a few other treasured objects which he had previously had on his person that he had yet to actively vet.

	"You're... not one of them are you?" his cell mate blurted out, actually starting to fear for his own life at this point. Caleb's hands froze, and he smiled wickedly as he extracted a small metallic object from one of the pockets. With one swift motion he flipped off the lid of his lighter and flicked the small metal box alight.

	"Now, if I was one of them, you would already be dead, wouldn't you?" Caleb commented, his face now ominously illuminated by the small yellow flame. Even though it only gave out a small amount of light, it was still enough to allow Caleb to attain a better view of his new found compatriot. Though young, the boy was already covered in scars and bruises; his clothes were ripped and torn, and he convulsed into shivers every time a draft blew in from under the large heavy cell door. Caleb knew the type quite well. It was just another young man turned Cabal prisoner. Caleb promptly flicked his lighter shut again, not wanting to waste its valuable butane fuel. "Nice living you have here" Caleb observed dryly, leaning his hat over his eyes in a supremely relaxed fashion.

	"Who... who are you?" the man responded, still unsure of what to make of his new visitor.

	"You don't know, and you shouldn't care" Caleb replied, growing weary of talking. "All you need to know is that I am your best reason to be afraid." He relaxed, sprawling himself across the stone floor, his hat falling to one side. His red eye's dimmed, and then disappeared into the darkness of the cell. After a long while had passed, the man across the room took in a tentative breath. He slowly inched forward, being very cautious as to not make a sound, and finally found himself beside his fellow prisoner. He outstretched his arm, and reached for a small object that had fallen out of the sleeping red eyed man's pocket. His eye's were better adjusted to the dark than Caleb's was, and he studied the object hopeful for some answers. It was a photograph.

	"For Caleb" he whispered, reading out loud the writing that was scrawled on the back. On the other side was a picture of young red haired woman, smiling what could best be described as a devious smile towards the photographer. She appeared to be wearing brown pants and shirt with a flowing green cape, although what trace of colour that remained in the already sepia image had long been subject to age and general degradation. For some reason the name sounded familiar to him; he recalled hearing his captors referring to it at times, and he could actually remember hearing them shouting it soon after he arrived. He remembered cultists running frantically around the place, arming themselves, and running in and out of the Cabal stronghold. They had just captured him as an afterthought. This must have been the man that they were really looking for.

	Suddenly Caleb's eyes opened a harsh red, as he reared up his head and looked around the room. The man quickly dropped the photograph and just as quickly crawled back to his corner of the cell, fearful that Caleb had noticed him. The next few moments seemed to take an eternity as Caleb continued to look inquisitively around the room, trying to discern what it was that had awoken him. Right when the man felt that his nerve was about to give way Caleb finally relaxed, grabbing his hat and pulling it down over his eyes once again. "What good is sitting alone in your room? Life is a cabaret..." Caleb sang off key, before closing his eyes once more and drifting back off into sleep again. In the corner of the cell, the man simply shivered.

Hamish Paul Wilson
April 13, 2014