The Penny Moon Hotel.
It rose before her, as ramshackle and charming as it had ever been, here beside Low Estate on the cusp of West End and the outskirts. The corner it presided over fell in its old shade and like the hotel itself, many of the smaller buildings, even those across the way, leaned into it, like it were some great oak, preserving all beneath it. Madison stood for a very long time out the front holding her leather suitcase. In the barn on Quarry, Marigold Two was grazing. She owned nothing else but what she wore, what she carried and that beast. What prompted her to head inside was little more than a lack of patience, knots of resign and a listlessness, but she soon forgot them as she stepped within and was overwhelmed by the shadows of the dwelling; decor, memories. Without adieu and study, she headed straight up the dark wood staircase beside the kitchen and hall and up again, to a room that was once hide-out and sanctuary. What it was to be, she couldn't say. Just a room, just a room.
"A room is where you hide from the wolves. That's all any room is."
Her pulse quickened as she fit the key she still held all these months, looped beside the cameo that rested against her chest beneath her cream blouse, and stepped in. The room was polished, the windows shined but ootherwise was as bare as she had left it. Her breath was held, she couldn't say why.
"Damn."
Crossing the room, she placed the suitcase on the bed which bounced and gave a squeak. A match struck and she lit the few candles in their rusted brass on the beside table and by the window. The sky was darkening to an olive brown. Hoisting up the window, Madison thought she could scent rain. The Donaldson House was behind her. Eli gone again to bring in some more money as a stockman and contrive some sort of deal with the past he had left. They had been hiding from one another, trying and only failing, and marriage was not a certain term for them, with all that space between.
Pale hands guided home the curtain that lashed out into the sudden wind. Her heart fell.
Alone again in The Penny Moon.
Her eyes stung a moment, as she turned from the street view below and headed over to the bed to haul it across. Beneath it was latched and cobwebbed the trapdoor. Giving it a firm hit with her fist, the hinge loosed and she pried it open. It was empty, dusty. Reaching behind her hip, where iron slept murder, she unclipped the gun and placed it within that wooden tomb.
Come October, and carnival season, the Circus would return and with them black confetti and rivers shining red. Madison would not touch the locked tomb before then.
So she had planned.
It rose before her, as ramshackle and charming as it had ever been, here beside Low Estate on the cusp of West End and the outskirts. The corner it presided over fell in its old shade and like the hotel itself, many of the smaller buildings, even those across the way, leaned into it, like it were some great oak, preserving all beneath it. Madison stood for a very long time out the front holding her leather suitcase. In the barn on Quarry, Marigold Two was grazing. She owned nothing else but what she wore, what she carried and that beast. What prompted her to head inside was little more than a lack of patience, knots of resign and a listlessness, but she soon forgot them as she stepped within and was overwhelmed by the shadows of the dwelling; decor, memories. Without adieu and study, she headed straight up the dark wood staircase beside the kitchen and hall and up again, to a room that was once hide-out and sanctuary. What it was to be, she couldn't say. Just a room, just a room.
"A room is where you hide from the wolves. That's all any room is."
Her pulse quickened as she fit the key she still held all these months, looped beside the cameo that rested against her chest beneath her cream blouse, and stepped in. The room was polished, the windows shined but ootherwise was as bare as she had left it. Her breath was held, she couldn't say why.
"Damn."
Crossing the room, she placed the suitcase on the bed which bounced and gave a squeak. A match struck and she lit the few candles in their rusted brass on the beside table and by the window. The sky was darkening to an olive brown. Hoisting up the window, Madison thought she could scent rain. The Donaldson House was behind her. Eli gone again to bring in some more money as a stockman and contrive some sort of deal with the past he had left. They had been hiding from one another, trying and only failing, and marriage was not a certain term for them, with all that space between.
Pale hands guided home the curtain that lashed out into the sudden wind. Her heart fell.
Alone again in The Penny Moon.
Her eyes stung a moment, as she turned from the street view below and headed over to the bed to haul it across. Beneath it was latched and cobwebbed the trapdoor. Giving it a firm hit with her fist, the hinge loosed and she pried it open. It was empty, dusty. Reaching behind her hip, where iron slept murder, she unclipped the gun and placed it within that wooden tomb.
Come October, and carnival season, the Circus would return and with them black confetti and rivers shining red. Madison would not touch the locked tomb before then.
So she had planned.