Locke’s Mansion
Crack, bang, cheers. Fireworks exploded over the sprawling grounds of the Locke estate, celebrating the owners ‘well deserved’ retirement. Twenty years as a member of law enforcement, ten years as a sheriff, three as corporal for a local military corp. A storied and successful career for the man who owned this large block of land. One that, Jonah Locke hoped, would be told for years to come.
He hoped.
A butler welcomed each of the guests as they piled in. All rich, upper class folk. Dressed in the latest fashions and styles. The men wore puffy and proud suits, with combed hair and trimmed beards. The women wore tight corsets and flowing dresses, their own hair done up in the latest fashions and styles.
Much to Bonnie’s dismay.
“How am I supposed to breathe in this?” she complained, feeling bone tug into her chest.
“Look, I may have done it a bit tight,” Callum admitted, adjusting a bow-tie. “But it’s much better than the rest of the people around here. Look at her! She’s like a twig!”
The lady gave an unimpressed look back to him, with him weakly smiling back. They’d done what they could to clean themselves. A good bath, filled with soap and sponges, washed away more dirt than could be held in a quarry. Callum’s face glowed afterwards in the sunlight, shining like a bulb. Bonnie made sure to make fun of him for it.
Next, the costumes were acquired. Having never tasted the finer life of the city, Bonnie was immediately taken aback by how much stuff women had to play with. Though by ‘play with’, it sometimes felt more like trap. Rings, bonnets, broaches, necklaces. All perfectly fine. But it was her chest that suffered the most. She’d used corsets before. This was a vice.
She managed to find a long dress which covered her arms. Not as much flexibility as the others, but it provided a convenient excuse to hide her scared arm. Along with gloves, the only exposed part of her now was her head.
A stiff object sat against her ankle, hidden from sight. Only to be deployed later.
They both glanced around as more people streamed up to the mansions gate. Horse-drawn carriages coming from all corners of the state. So many people. Some they may have robbed before. Callum gulped and glanced to Bonnie.
“You sure this is a good idea, Bon?” he asked. “What if Isaiah found out? You know what he’s like about messing with law men.”
“Jonah killed my parents, Cal,” she said. “I’ll deal with the consequences.”
“I know,” he sighed. “But… I’m not sure. Something about this seems weird. It’s pretty convenient timing, right? We kill Pete, and in there is an invitation to another one of your parents killers?”
Bonnie did think it was strange. Throughout the last two weeks, as they prepared their costumes and cleaned off the earth from their skin, the thought never left her mind. Was this some coincidence? That when Pete showed up he just happened to be visiting Locke? He certainly didn’t look like he’d seen a clean sheet in years. Why now?
Yet each time that thought arose, she quickly dismissed it. There was no reason to think this was intentional. The only other people who knew about what happened were Isaiah’s gang and the huge Obadiah Stately. A man who, even after all these years, never turned up. He’d completely disappeared into the chill of the night. Part of her hoped to find answers tonight. Part of her realised how stupid that would be.
They made their way up to the entrance, Callum giving a gracious and kind bow to the butler. He gave a strange look to Bonnie, but put on a forced smile and accepted their invitations graciously. Checking them over, nodding, he handed them back and bid them welcome. Pete thanked the man and they headed on through. By the time they made it around the corner, they burst into giggles.
“Oh my God, did you see that guy’s face?” Callum said.
“I know, right?” she chuckled. “Couldn’t believe someone like me could be in a place like this.”
They continued their back and forth jokes, when they finally made it to the open yard. It was immaculate. Hedges neatly trimmed circled a sprouting fountain. Marble statues of ancient Gods lined the paths, staring down at them in passive courage. Party goers laughed along as they drank their champagne, served to them by tired and much darker staff.
The only problem, Bonnie noticed, was that the man of the house was missing. She whispered into Callum’s ear, who nodded along.
“Think we should split up?” Bonnie asked. “Could cover more ground that way.”
“You sure that’s worth the risk?” he said. “You saw how the butler reacted to you. By yourself, you’d be a much easier target to point out.”
“I’ll be fine,” she sighed. “Just go along with what we already talked about – I’m your wife from Africa, I’m rich, and I’m a friend of the sheriff.”
“Alright then,” he shrugged. “Just give us a call out if anything goes wrong. I’ll be sticking around here.”
Bonnie nodded, appreciating the offer, and headed out to explore. She began to mingle with the other guests, charming her with the fantastical tales from the depths of Africa. Not once had she mentioned a country by name. Just ‘Africa’ was enough to get these people invested. She found it odd. For a group of people who would have usually treated her with less grace than one would with dirt on a shoe, they gobbled up her stories.
Whether that was because she was fooling the guests, or because of the music and fireworks, Bonnie surprised herself at how much she enjoyed this. In just ten minutes, she had become the life of the party. Dozens of people gathered around to listen to her tales, describing more and more outlandish things as if they were real.
As an hour rolled by, a bell chime rang over the fields. Bonnie, in the middle of a tale about how she wrestled an elephant, noticed all of the guests begin to spread out from the centre and to the side, creating a large open space. It was a dance square, she realised. Polished wood, marked only by the shoes of tonight’s patrons, left space for all to gracefully march along. She followed along with them, not wanting to be caught out.
The small orchestra played a few triumphant notes, and her scar began to tingle once more. A bright light shone to one side, revealing a large man.
Locke.
Bonnie clenched her fist, blood boiling and freezing. Unlike his friend Pete, he had aged remarkably. A neatly trimmed beard and moustache, clean features, and a tight suit, all made him a silver fox. Neatly combed grey hairs sat under his hat, with a large multi-coloured feather adorned on top. A badge sat on his breast, shining as bright as the moon that illuminated them all.
It wasn’t fair, Bonnie realised. How had he lived so well after he ended her life?
He stood at the top of the dance floor, looking around to the guests with a smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice booming out in a tenor. “Thank you all for coming to my retirement. I hope that each and every one of you is having a fantastic time. It has come to that point in the evening where we all share a dance.”
Cheerful gasps rang out over the square floor. Bonnie was confused. Didn’t they all just depart to do this? Where they really surprised?
“Before we begin,” he continued, “I would hope to take the hand of one of you fair ladies. While I’m sure you would love to take mine, there is one woman I’ve had my eyes on since the beginning of this night.”
He looked squarely toward Bonnie, extending a hand. All eyes looked to hers, quizzical. The dark woman? He was picking her?
She felt the same way. Did he know who she was? Was this some kind of sick joke?
“Mrs Remignton,” he said calmly. “I know this may not be something you’re used to in Africa, but in America we accept the hand of a man when we’re offered it.”
A few laughs rang out around them. All at the expense of the clueless and stupid black woman, she was sure. She adjusted her dress and corset, tightened her face, and stepped out to him. Her shoes clicked against the floor, echoing like an awkward hammer. She forced a smile and graciously took his hands.
“It would be my pleasure, sir,” she said.
He smiled and gestured for the orchestra to start up again. A simple waltz. Something easy. She could adapt to this. It would just be a bit of time before she could adjust to him. His pungent cologne, his overbearing grin, his clean hands. How could he wash them so that the blood of her parent’s escaped, she wouldn’t know.
She followed his lead, letting the man decide her actions. There was a step to the left, then a circle, then another left. He spun her around like a wind-up doll. Total control. The thing she couldn’t stand most. But one she could play along with for now.
The strings ascended as more excited guest joined the floor. Bonnie briefly glanced Callum make his way in, his own eyes darting back to her. He appeared to be quite popular, she noticed. Yet he hardly seemed comfortable. Though of the attention or the sheriff, she couldn’t say.
She wasn’t sure either. Right now, anything could happen.
“Mrs Remington,” he began. “It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Something about his voice spelled honesty, Bonnie thought. No, not that. It was acceptance. He had accepted that the story she and Callum told was the truth. If it was actually a pleasure, she couldn’t tell.
“I hear you are a wonderful story teller,” he continued, leading her feet with his. “I would enjoy to hear one of your tales.”
“While we dance, sir?” she asked.
“I was thinking along my estate. Just the two of us, walking alone in the night. It truly is wonderful weather. I apologies if it isn’t the warm climate you’re used to in Africa, but we must make do.”
“Oh, it’s very good, sir,” she began, feeding his ego further. “We’ve had cool nights like this at home. But I must say, yours is a much more… inviting.”
“Thank you,” he smiled. “I’m glad to see one such as yourself is able to appreciate the fine things of our country, despite your limitations. Once this piece ends, let us walk along my gardens.”
She forced another smile, though not for his words. The implication sent shivers through her body, stopping only at her hands. She couldn’t let it get that far. He couldn’t know. Yet she had to power through.
A chance to be alone with him was something she couldn’t pass up.
The song ended, the audience gave a polite clap to the players, and a new one began. Bonnie and Sheriff Locke made their way past the guests, around the perfectly cut hedges, and through to a quiet area. A couple appeared to be having a fun time there already. Once they saw the host, they quickly cleaned up, said their apologies, and departed in a small fit of giggles.
Locke sighed and shook his head, before turning to Bonnie.
“Well then,” he said. “We’re alone now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My my, Pete must have taught you well,” he laughed. “A ‘sir’ after every sentence. I wish my wife talked like that. Make sure she knew her place.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now tell me,” he smiled. “What is a dark lady like you doing in the America’s? I wasn’t aware that Pete had ever been to Africa.”
“He did, sir. For about six months. That’s how we met.”
“Incredible,” he sighed. “Because I thought that he was a bum. Living off my hard earned money, using it for booze and women. Though I admit I hadn’t seen him tonight. He is here, isn’t he?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling. “Shouldn’t be far from the main action. You know how he is.”
“I did, yes,” he said. “He hasn’t been himself lately, though. Still sad about a thing he did many years ago. Did he tell you about that?”
“No, sir,” she said. “He tends to stay quiet on his past, and I never ask.”
“Good on you,” he nodded. “Then I shall be delighted to explain. There was a family that lived a few miles from here. A black woman married an Indian man. Even had a kid. Can you believe that? It just goes against His word. That’s why we have so many problems these days. Personally, I blame that Lincoln fella up in Washington. Who does he think he speaks for, anyway?”
“Oh, I don’t get into politics much,” she said, leading him further into the gardens.
“Quite good of you, too. A black woman like yourself just doesn’t have the mental fortitude to choose these things. But that’s besides the point. The family were causing a bit of distress to the locals. So Pete, myself, and another man went to go sort it out. Things got ugly after the man insulted us, then threatened us. We had no choice but to fight back. Had to kill every last one of them. For some reason, Pete took this hard. To this day I still don’t understand.”
He sighed and looked down. The moons shadow crossed his face, both ageing him and making him younger. That brief flash made Bonnie shudder, but she held her composure. She reached down to her ankle, feeling for that sharp piece of metal.
“Do you know what happened to the kid?” she asked, hoping to draw his attention a bit further.
“They died, I think,” he shrugged. “No one could survive out in the wilderness like that. Probably for the best, I say. It’s not healthy to have a mixed child.”
“How can you be so sure?”
As Locke glanced around to meet hers, he tumbled back into a chair as Bonnie wielded a short but deadly knife right against his throat. It’s shine glinted in the moonlight, reflecting back against her face and his. He shuddered, falling down pathetically. Like Pete.
Time for the final blow.
Still holding the knife right to his neck, she revealed the scar lining across her arm. She was surprised to see it still sealed. With how much it had been boiling during the night, she half expected it to be burst open.
Not that Locke cared. He stared up between her and the knife set right against his breather.
“You…” he started. “You were the bastard child of the McAdams!”
Before he could call out for his guards, Bonnie shot a hand to cover his mouth.
“Ah, ah,” she warned, pressing her knife closer to his throat than ever. “We wouldn’t want to hurt ourselves now, would we?”
A small trickle of blood tipped her blade. His eyes began to water, affirming her. He didn’t nod, fearful of what that would do to his already injured neck. Bonnie smiled and withdrew her hand. He stared back up to her, silent. Still. Hardly ready for his reckoning. More furious he allowed himself to be tricked by someone who ‘belonged in the fields’.
“You’ll never escape from here alive,” he said, low and threatening. Bonnie’s legs shook, his voice eerily similar to what he used when talking to her Pa. “They’ll find me here, dead, and know it was you. You won’t be able to live in any of the states for the rest of your life. You hear? They’ll hunt you dead!”
“Do you think that’ll stop me?” she said. “A tiny threat like that?”
She pressed her blade closer to his throat. Blood oozed out like juice from an orange, slow but full. His eyes betrayed his true feeling once more.
“Obadiah Stately!” he begged. “You don’t know where Obadiah Stately is, right?”
She stopped. So, he had something useful to say after all? Her hand wavered by his neck, refusing to let go of him but not as dangerous as before. Could she really trust this murderer to tell the truth? To not just weasel his way out of a situation? But if not, why would he bring it up?
She cursed, and let the dagger drop down.
“Talk,” she demanded. “While you still have a tongue.”
He gulped. “I don’t know where he is exactly. Wait wait wait! Don’t flash that thing. Please, I know how we can find him.”
“We?”
“He’s a bastard anyway. Wanted him dead forever ago. I invited him here and he didn’t even show up. What are frie- acquaintances for, hey? May as well gut the bastard. Then you can let me go, right? Right?”
Bonnie stabbed him in his right leg. He cried out in pain, muffled as she thrust her hand back to his mouth. She cringed as his hot sticky breath pressed against her skin. His lips were disgusting, melting into his beard like a strange concoction of hair and wet meat. Finally, he stopped screaming, breathing in slowly and with great effort.
“Alright, alright, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he begged. “Please, let’s just get out of here. I know a way around that will help us avoid the worst of it. Deal?”
Bonnie paused for a second. Just a second. Just enough time for him to scream out for his guards. She cursed, and slit his throat. The screams died along with him, his body slumping to the floor. She wiped the edge of the knife along his stupid hat and sheathed it, before running in the opposite direction.
Darting around hedges, around statues, around intricately designed benches and fence posts, she found her way back to the main arena. Most of the guests continued to dance, unaware of all that had happened just 50 metres from them. Among them, the happy and wildly dancing Callum saw her beg him to the side. He politely left his entourage and joined her.
“What happened?” he asked.
“We’re in hot shit.”
To be continued…
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Cheesman Chronicles 
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