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Nobody knew what it felt like. What Arthur felt when he'd arrived in the little cabin, expecting to be greeted with a warm hug followed by a child-like grin, only to be greeted with daunting silence.
Arthur noticed the door first. Its upper half unhinged from the screws and ajar from the lock. Her name, the waitress he'd met long ago, spilled out of his lips a second later—a whisper and a question. Something in between disbelief and knowing, like he knows deep down in the crevices of his mind that something has gone wrong.
The crackle of glass beneath his feet when he stepped foot into the cabin twisted something cruel in his gut. There were bits and pieces scattered all over the floor, wood and glass stained with dried-up blood Arthur didn’t want to think about. But he was beginning to break. They were always here; he made sure of it. Every visit he made, every door he opened, they were both always here. In this tiny little cabin, up past the creek he’d taken that little boy fishing to.
He doesn’t notice the strained sob that escapes his mouth, too caught up in the pain twisting in his chest. The dining table is untouched, two plates covered in dust are placed side by side. It must have been some time during the night when they were both unguarded and ready for sleep. Eliza must’ve had dinner ready, and Isaac-oh, little Isaac would’ve been playing with his toys, waiting for his mother to call to eat.
The disbelief weighs on his heart, his legs leaving the cabin and knocking on the nearest door he can find. With a graying beard and a wrinkled frown, an old rancher greets and studies Arthur warily, recognizing him in a moment as the silhouette getting dragged around by a small boy in front of that cabin. It was a robbery, the rancher says solemnly. The grief sits heavily on Arthur’s shoulder as he mutters his thanks. It’s when he gets back to the cabin that he notices the two crosses stabbed into the soil. His shoulders sag as he stands before them, his eyes low. Silently willing the world to let him be selfish and have him wake up from this horrible nightmare.
“Heard ‘em say it was for ten dollars, up them men near town.”
So Arthur found them. Tracked them through the thick trees and killed every last one of them without a word, and then—nothing. He felt nothing as he dragged himself back to the cabin. Sweet Eliza wasn’t there to greet him with a warmth that understood, and Isaac wasn’t going to be running up to him with the most childlike wonder to ask about his travels. There was nothing but cold air and silence to accompany his foolish mind.
Arthur Morgan sat on the floor, alone, twirling one of Isaac’s wooden toys that he carved himself, thinking that he’ll never amount to anything more than this—grief to last a lifetime and bloodstained hands that will never be cleansed.