send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did - Billy
GLIMPSES OF THE PAST
@sorsrenuo
You ever see it comin’? Betrayal, I mean. I sure didn’t. Not that day, not like that. Funny thing is, I always figured I’d meet my end in a blaze of glory - guns drawn, lead flyin', the whole damn West watching in awe. But instead… it was a quiet night in Fort Sumner. No duel, no justice, just a bullet I didn’t even see comin’.
The air was heavy in Fort Sumner that night, sticky with the kind of tension that made even the stars seem dim. Billy walked in with his usual unmatched swagger, but there was something different about him. Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at his gut, or maybe it was the exhaustion of always looking over his shoulder. He hadn’t eaten for hours, and Pete Maxwell’s place seemed like a good enough stop - quiet, familiar. Safe.
I trusted Pete, used to think that guy and I were thick as thieves. That’s why I felt safe enough to stop by his place that night, lookin’ for some grub. But trust… it’s a dangerous thing to hand out too freely. Should’ve known better by then.
Billy stepped into the dimly lit house, his boots scraping against the worn wooden floor. The room felt colder than it should’ve, the kind of chill that crawls up your spine and whispers that something ain’t right. Pete was sittin’ there, slumped in his chair like he was waiting for something - or someone.
You ever get that feeling in your gut? That little twist that tells 'ya to turn around, to walk right back out that door? I ignored it. Hunger makes a man reckless, stupid even. And Pete… well, Pete couldn’t even meet my eyes. Should’a been my first clue. But hell, I was tired. Tired of running, tired of fightin’.
Pete mumbled something under his breath, his voice low and shaky, nervous. Billy leaned closer, frowning as he tried to make sense of the words. It was then that he caught the sound - a faint creak of wood, the kind of sound made only by a third party. His hand hovered near his revolver, gut screaming at him to draw or duck, but before he could -
The crack o' that revolver - it was like the air itself split apart. One second, I’m standin’ there, and the next, there’s this burnin’ pain in my chest, like my whole body was bein' torched from the inside out. My legs gave out before I even knew what hit me, and I hit the ground hard. Blood - my blood - was everywhere, warm, soakin’ into the wooden floor. And all I could think was… it ain’t s'posed to end like this.
Billy struggled to lift his head, his vision swirling as the figure who shot stepped forward. Pat Garrett’s face came into focus, the familiar lines of his old friend now twisted with something cold. There wasn’t hate in Garrett’s eyes, but there wasn’t regret either - just a quiet resignation, like a man who’d made his peace with his choices. Such was the life of the good Sheriff.
"Sorry, Henry,"
Pete's voice cut through the ringing in Billy's ears, and his real name was being used. Unlike Pat, the sheriff who had literally made it his life's mission to hunt him down and bring an end to his deeds, Pete was smilin'. Smilin' like his whole damn life just turned around.
"'yer just worth too much if you're dead than you would be alive."
The betrayal hit harder than the bullet, sharper than any blade. Pete’s smile was slick, snake-like. It made Billy’s stomach churn more than the blood pooling beneath him. But he was too tired to muster a response, and his vision was already starting to fade. The last thing he could see now was the figure of Sheriff Garrett, coming to confirm the death of Billy the Kid. That's when Billy's head thumped back down onto the floor beneath him, a soft thud acting as his last breath.
Funny thing is, I don’t even hate him for it. Ain’t that somethin’? A man puts a bullet in you, and all you can feel is this hollow ache, this… sadness. Pat didn’t pull that trigger outta hate. He did it ‘cause he thought it was the right thing to do. And maybe that’s what makes it worse.
And that’s it. No grand finale, no legendary duel. Just a kid lyin’ on a wood floor, wonderin’ if anyone’ll remember him for more than the price on his head. Wonderin' if his ma would be proud; but who was he kidding? She wouldn't be. She didn't want it to be like this for him.
