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A dusty road in a small town in the Wild West. In the foreground stands a cowboy with his back to the viewer. He is ready for a duel.
5

Kiona Bluff

Episode:
5
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V1.0
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Length:
10,500 words
Reading time:
49 minutes
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Kiona Bluff

“Sir?”

Someone was shaking my shoulder.

“Sir, are you alright?”

I jolted awake and looked around. One minute I was lying on the sunbathing lawn at the outdoor pool, and now I was sitting in a very comfortable leather armchair. It was situated in a hotel lobby with luxurious marble floors and wood-paneled walls. Opposite me was the reception desk, next to it two check-in kiosks and three elevators. One had a light blue door labeled “@137” in large white letters.

A bellhop stood next to me, looking at me with concern.

I quickly straightened up and adjusted my shirt.

“Yes, I’m fine. I must have fallen asleep.”

The bellhop nodded, relieved. “Sir, your companion has arrived.”

He gestured toward the entrance. It was already dark outside. A black limousine was parked in the zone. The driver opened the rear door. A woman got out, nodded in thanks, and gracefully walked toward the hotel entrance. A doorman let her in.

The woman wore a deep blue, slim-fitting evening gown made of matte satin, reaching just above her ankles. It was sleeveless and had an asymmetrical collar elegantly draped over her right shoulder. On her head, she wore a fashionable hat with a wide, slightly curved brim pulled low over her face.

I stood up and walked toward her, feeling uncertain. As she noticed me, she changed direction and came over to me.

And suddenly, I recognized her.

“Miray, is that you?” I asked as she stood before me.

She pushed up the hat and smiled sheepishly. “Have I changed that much?”

“I didn’t recognize you at all. You look absolutely stunning!”

She nodded briefly. “So do you, Dian! Tailored suit, perfectly trimmed beard, hair slicked back.”

“Looks like we have something special planned for tonight.”

I wanted to check my wrist, but a large wristwatch covered my tattoo.

Miray showed me hers.

“Two lines! Looks like Lish isn’t with us this time,” she remarked with a grin.

I pointed at it. “And there’s the green circle! What’s that supposed to mean now?”

“No idea. Let’s just see what happens! After all, we can leave anytime if we don’t like it.”

The bellhop cleared his throat softly and gestured towards the elevators. “Ma’am, Sir, if you would like to follow me?”

He led us to the blue elevator door and pressed the button. Moments later, we were both in the elevator, which accelerated smoothly but noticeably, taking us to the 137th floor.

A maître d’ greeted us. He was around forty, slim, and wore a charcoal three-piece suit with the hotel’s logo discreetly embroidered on the breast pocket. His mouth smiled warmly and invitingly, but his eyes showed attentiveness and authority. I immediately felt at ease with him.

“Mrs. Miray, Mr. Dian, on behalf of @137, I would like to warmly welcome you to the 137th floor of the Burj Al Sahar.”

He bowed his head slightly.

“Mr. Nasser sends his best regards. He deeply regrets being unable to welcome you personally and extends his sincere thanks for the successful business deal. It is a special honor for him to have you as his guests. Please feel free to enjoy this evening in his spirit. Everything else has already been arranged for you.”

With a gesture, he invited us to follow him.

He led us into a restaurant that was both elegant and modern. Large panoramic windows stretched along the curved outer wall, offering a wide view of a sea of tiny streetlights and tall buildings. The tables by the windows were made of dark wood, spacious and round. On the opposite side, a curved bar ran along the wall. The dark counter was brightened by a colorful, illuminated mosaic pattern on its front. The lighting in the room was pleasantly dimmed, allowing one to enjoy the view of the city. Only the tables were brightly lit by spotlights.

A small, decorative waterway ran across the room, subtly illuminated. We crossed it on a bridge and headed to a table right by the windows.

“Our best seats,” announced the maître d’. “You have an indescribable view of Dubai here.”

Miray hesitated, tense. I could tell she didn’t want to sit there. It was undoubtedly the best spot in the restaurant – if one didn’t suffer from a fear of heights.

I cleared my throat softly. “Maître, I think we’d prefer a more private corner.”

He nodded briefly, turned, and led us to a cozy spot near the bar. I cast a quick glance at Miray. Her relieved smile told me it was the better choice.

After we had taken our seats, the maître d’ inquired, “May I know in advance if there are any special requests we should consider for the menu or wine pairing?”

Miray nodded. “No alcohol for me, please. I’m happy to be surprised by everything else.”

“Same for me, please,” I added.

“Of course,” said the maître d’, wished us an enjoyable evening, and left.

“Thanks!” Miray whispered. “I hope you weren’t too attached to the table with the panoramic view.”

I waved it off. “I can catch a view like that another time. A fancy candlelight dinner with you, I cannot.”

Embarrassed, she changed the subject.

“They probably have wines here older than us. Wouldn’t that have been something for you?”

“Sure, they have top-notch wines here. But I want to enjoy this evening with you. As long as possible, and without blacking out.”

For a moment, I considered whether to ask. Then I did.

“You don’t drink alcohol?”

Miray’s mouth twisted slightly.

“When my adoptive father lost his job, he became a drinker. And when he drank, he was unpredictable. Sometimes he was quiet, other times he completely lost it. My mother kept quiet and suffered, for the kids’ sake. And I blamed myself for a long time. Thought he regretted the adoption because I was a burden on him.”

Thoughtfully, she stared into the candlelight on the table.

“Whether he still drinks today… No idea, and I don’t care. Either way, I avoid that stuff as best as I can. And him too.”

She sighed loudly. Then she looked at me, and she smiled as if a switch had been flipped.

“Let’s talk about something nicer, Dian! Look, here come the drinks!”

The sommelier brought us an ice-cold apéritif made from green apple, Sanshō pepper, and mint. We toasted and took a sip. It was more refreshing than any champagne could have been.

Suddenly, there was movement in the room. The maître d’ led in a man who left no doubt about how important he thought he was. He wore a flawless designer suit, elegant patent leather shoes, and on his wrist, a gold watch that exuded opulence rather than elegance. Three waiters buzzed around him, brought him to his seat, advised him, noted, crossed out, changed. Nothing seemed good enough for him.

Miray and I exchanged glances.

“What a fuss they’re making,” I whispered to her. “What does he have that we don’t, besides maybe a fat bank account and a black credit card?”

“Myth,” she claimed, taking a sip of her apéritif.

I frowned. “Myth?”

“He wears designer clothes, an expensive watch, acts authoritative. Everyone assumes he’s rich. But who really knows what his bank account looks like?”

I grinned. “So, the myth of the super-rich guy who makes the next million while just blowing his nose.”

Her gaze turned thoughtful for a moment.

“I experienced something like that in a past dream journey,” she finally said.

“What? You were super-rich?”

She laughed. “No. I mean a myth that was bigger than the man I had to face. But that’s a long story.”

From the kitchen came the appetizer, a tuna sashimi with pomegranate seeds on a bed of herb oil.

I picked up the cutlery. “Well, we have time. You have to tell me!”

For a moment, she looked to the side and thought. She smirked and nodded slightly before she began her story.


I found myself in a carriage, a plain wooden box with six windows. The bench I sat on was worn and as hard as stone. A strong jolt had woken me, and I wondered how I had even managed to fall asleep here.

The carriage rocked as the wheels rattled over a stony ground. It was sweltering hot, the air was dusty, stale, and barely breathable. From outside, I heard the voices of the coachmen talking about something. One of them laughed.

We were traveling through a barren steppe landscape. Patches of half-dried grasses and shrubs stretched to the mountains on the horizon. The sun was already low, yet it scorched everything that came too close.

I wore a beige dress with a high collar that flared into a wide skirt. The clothing felt heavy and impractical, yet it seemed to be made for everyday use.

Otherwise, I only had a small bag with me, containing nothing more than a few coins and a folded note. I opened it and read a poster. “Wanted,” it said in large letters, “Benjamin Walker, also known as Bullet Ben, dead or alive.”

It was pretty clear that I had to catch an outlaw. How I was supposed to do that was less clear.

For the moment, all I could do was wait to see where the carriage would take me. So I leaned into a corner and tried to doze off a bit more.

After a while, we came to a stop. One of the coachmen came and opened the door.

“Miss, we’ve reached Kiona Bluff.”

He offered me his hand and helped me out.

I looked around. Kiona Bluff was little more than a dusty main street with simple wooden houses lined up on either side like chickens on a roost. It looked like the set of a Western movie, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if John Wayne came riding through.

I had arrived in a red stagecoach drawn by four horses. One of the coachmen was still sitting on the box, holding his rifle. The other, who had helped me out, was now at the rear luggage compartment, pulling out a few packages and handing them to a waiting man. Then he climbed up next to his colleague and snapped the reins. The coach moved on, kicking up a cloud of dust as it left me in this place.

My first stop was the sheriff. When I entered his office, he was sitting behind his desk, feet up on the tabletop and hat over his face.

“Matt, I’m telling you for the last time,” he growled without lifting the hat. “You’re crashing at Clem’s because your good Martha caught you with Betty. What you need now is a priest, not the sheriff.”

I cleared my throat loudly. The sheriff flinched, took off his hat, and looked at me in surprise. Then he swung his feet off the desk and sat up straight.

“Well, Miss, what brings you to our humble little spot?”

“I’m looking for Bullet Ben.”

He chuckled briefly. “Didn’t know he was married.”

“And I didn’t know you were in charge of jokes,” I heard myself say.

He let the remark slide right off him.

“What does a fine lady like you want with a guy like that?”

I opened my bag, pulled out the wanted poster, and held it up to the sheriff’s face. His silly grin vanished instantly.

“If you really want to know: Ben’s holed up in a cabin, right out by the desert bluff that gives our town its lovely name.”

I stared at him. He couldn’t be serious!

“If you know where Ben lives, why don’t you go and arrest him?” I asked indignantly.

He rubbed his forehead with his index finger.

“Ain’t nobody here crazy enough to take him on, Miss. You know why they call him Bullet Ben? ‘Cause he’s never missed a shot. Not once! Not even drunk or at night. And worse: He knows everything that happens around here. Before I even know it. Like he’s got ears in every chicken coop.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to do your job for you.” I threw my hands up. “You might as well prepare a cell. Or a coffin, depending.”

The sheriff sighed loudly. “Miss, that ‘dead or alive’… that’s for Ben, not you! Do you even have a gun?”

I shook my head. “I can’t shoot.”

That wasn’t even a lie. And the martial arts, I’d only learn those a few dreams later in that monastery where I was stuck for ten months. I knew the situation was hopeless. But what choice did I have? If I did nothing, I’d end up settling in Kiona Bluff.

The sheriff picked up his coffee cup, looked inside, and turned it over. A few grains of sand trickled out. He sighed and set it back down.

“It’d be a shame, for a pretty girl like you. If I may give you some advice: Take two quiet days here. The stagecoach comes back the day after tomorrow. You get on, go home, find yourself a rich prince, get married, have a bunch of kids, and live happily ever after.”

“I’d rather have Ben shoot me down,” I snorted.

“Your funeral, Miss…” he mumbled. Then he leaned back in his chair, threw his feet back on the desk, and put his hat over his face.

I couldn’t expect any help from this lazybones, that much was clear.

I left his office and looked around. The sun was already low on the horizon, a blood-red fireball. It wouldn’t be long before it set completely. There was nothing more I could do about Bullet Ben today. It was more important to find a place for the night if I didn’t want to sleep under the open sky. And I didn’t want to.

Right across the street was the saloon. I stepped inside and let my gaze wander around the room. The air smelled of alcohol, food, and wood smoke. In one corner stood a dusty piano. A few guests sat scattered around the round tables. Three cowboys were playing poker at one of them. They were hard to miss. One of them laughed loudly at a joke he had cracked.

When the saloonkeeper saw the strange city lady who had just come through his swinging door, he was at a loss for words. The two men at the bar followed his gaze, stared at me, then one moved aside and gestured to the empty spot. I thanked him and positioned myself between them.

“What can I get for you, Miss?” the saloonkeeper asked.

“Something refreshing, but without alcohol.”

The saloonkeeper nodded. “Got some sarsaparilla. A good one, too.”

“Then bring it on!”

He took a glass, poured a dark drink, and set it in front of me.

“On the house, as a welcome. I’m Clem, this place is mine. The gentleman next to you is Hank, and the old guy on your other side goes by Jeb. He’s got more stories in his head than teeth in his mouth.”

Hank nodded in greeting, while Jeb chuckled and displayed a set of teeth that consisted mostly of gaps.

“My name’s Miray,” I introduced myself. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You must be hungry, Miss Miray,” Clem said. A moment later, he placed a steaming stew in front of me. It smelled delicious, of meat, beans, vegetables, and herbs. Only then did I realize how hungry I was.

Curiously, I dipped the spoon in and tasted. The aroma hadn’t promised too much. The stew was thick and hearty. Suddenly, chili joined in and turned the bite into a piece of burning lava.

I reached for the sarsaparilla and tried to quench the fire in my mouth. It only spread, turning into a wildfire. I looked away and gasped for air.

“Not too spicy, I hope?” Clem asked, concerned.

I looked at the spoon. It wasn’t melting or dissolving. Hope for my stomach.

“Forgive me, Miss,” Hank began cautiously. “It’s probably none of my business, but what brings you to Kiona Bluff? We don’t get many visitors here. And hardly any like you.”

With sweat on my forehead and tears in my eyes, I looked at him.

“I have some business with Bullet Ben,” I croaked hoarsely.

The friendly smiles vanished from the men’s faces. They stared at each other in disbelief.

“Are you related to him?” Clem finally asked.

I shook my head.

“Then I don’t see why you’d have anything to do with him. You should know: That guy is cold as ice. He’s wanted for robbing the stagecoach at Devil’s Peak.”

I looked around questioningly.

“Do you live under a rock, Miss?” Jeb croaked. “There were six armed men guarding the coach when he robbed it all by himself. In full gallop! He took a chest full of gold, the ladies’ jewelry, and the guns from the men too. Before they knew what hit ’em, Ben was just a shadow on the horizon.”

I grinned crookedly. “So Ben’s like a bad Chuck Eastwood.”

Now it was the men who looked at me questioningly.

“You know, Chuck Eastwood! The living legend. Chuck doesn’t need a gun; he can flick deadly bullets with his bare fingers! Never heard of him?”

Clem shook his head, bewildered. How could he have heard of Chuck? I had just made the name up.

“Chuck Eastwood?” Jeb nodded reverently. “Sure I’ve heard of him, Miss. The man with a thousand faces. Could be anyone, or no one. Once, he disguised himself as a mule, and nobody noticed.”

I pointed at him.

“There you go! Against someone like Chuck Eastwood, Bullet Ben wouldn’t stand a chance. And who knows? Maybe one day he’ll come to Kiona Bluff and bring some law and order here.”

Clem nodded. “That’d be nice, Miss. My saloon would do better, but after sundown, hardly anyone dares to go out.”

That was a good cue.

“Speaking of which,” I said, “I’m still looking for a place to stay the night.”

Clem nearly froze. “You can’t stay here, Miss! A saloon’s no place for a lady, especially not one like you. Besides, I only have two rooms. One’s got Matt in it, on account of his… domestic situation.”

I nodded. “Yes, the sheriff mentioned something like that. And the other?”

“That one’s Betty’s. Has been for years. She’s like a permanent guest.”

Jeb grinned like a ferret on catnip. “It’s kinda like a workroom, Miss, if you catch my drift.”

“Shut up, Jeb!” Clem snapped at him, then turned back to me.

I sighed. “Is there nothing else? No hotel? No inn? It would only be for two nights. I hope to have my task completed by the next stagecoach.”

“This ain’t San Francisco, Miss!” Clem chimed in. Everyone laughed. I didn’t.

Hank cleared his throat. “Well… you could stay in the blacksmith’s shop for a while.”

“That’s a great idea, Hank!” Clem said happily.

“And the blacksmith won’t mind?” I asked.

“Jake?” Clem shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. He passed away last week.”

“Poor Jake!” Hank added. “A snake got him.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Then one of the cowboys at the poker table called Clem over to order another round of whiskey.

I finished my sarsaparilla and set the glass on the counter. “Okay, Hank, it’s getting late. Can you show me the blacksmith’s shop?”

Hank nodded and grabbed his hat. Together, we left the saloon.

Outside, it was now noticeably cooler. We walked silently down the street and reached the blacksmith’s shop at the edge of town. With its large wooden gate at the front, it looked like a barn at first. Only the sign Blacksmith J. Tanner revealed its purpose.

Hank pulled a key from his vest pocket and used it to open a door right next to the gate. He then let me inside.

It was pitch dark in the blacksmith’s shop. In the dim light coming through a murky window, I could only make out the shapes of the forge and an anvil. The smell of metal, ash, and burnt oil lingered in the air, even though the place hadn’t been in operation for a while.

“I was friends with Jake,” Hank said as he felt his way to another door. “I’m looking after the shop until his brother comes to take care of things.”

He opened the door, entered a room, and lit an oil lamp. I followed him into the dimly lit space.

“Well, it’s not the Astor House and certainly not what a lady like you is used to. But I hope it’ll do for two nights.”

I looked at the bed, which was surely a luxury hotel for its residents, a colony of bedbugs.

Hank noticed my gaze. “Poor Jake. This was where he passed away.”

I stared at him, horrified. “What, the bed? I thought he died from a snakebite!”

Hank nodded.

“Yeah, he did. A rattlesnake got him. At night, in his bed.”

He sighed.

“Anyway, the doc suspects it was a rattlesnake. We didn’t find it.”

Hank put on his hat and nodded goodbye.

“Well then, good night, Miss Miray.” He pointed to the key he placed on the table. “You better lock up. You never know what’s prowling around at this hour.”

The potential roommates in the shop were more unsettling to me at that moment. Still, I locked the door behind Hank and checked the heavy bolt that secured the gate from the inside.

Then I did something I’d wanted to do the whole time: I peeled off several pounds of petticoats and took off the corset.

Slowly, I sank onto the anvil and sighed deeply. I’d been on other dream journeys, but none seemed as hopeless as this one did back then.

I raised the oil lamp and looked around. On one wall hung horseshoes, iron bars, and tools neatly arranged. Opposite was the forge, next to it a huge bellows. A simple partition divided the room. In the chamber behind it stood a workbench with small hammers, files, and pliers. Apparently, Jake was not just a blacksmith, but also crafted jewelry and other fine items.

Two ropes led to the ceiling. I pulled one, and a small hatch on the roof creaked open. With the other, I closed it again. A simple mechanism, presumably to let heat out or light in.

I went into the living area. In one corner was a bed – the very bed where Jake fell asleep and didn’t wake up. Next to it was a small wood stove with a pot on top, the ladle still inside. A few flies were fighting over what was once a meal. I thought it best not to look under the lid.

In the darkness, I stubbed my toe and cursed quietly. I raised the lamp and noticed a simple wooden table with two wobbly chairs. On the table was a dented tin cup, next to it a spoon. It seemed as if Jake would walk through the door any moment and sit down.

In the back of the room, the floorboards creaked and the ground gave a little under my weight. I looked down and discovered a wooden hatch with an iron ring, which I could use to pull it open. A narrow ladder led into the darkness.

Curious, I climbed down and lit up the room. It was a small cellar, simply carved into the rock and so low that I had to bend my head. On the left stood a crooked wooden shelf with dented cans. On the right, I found a few small wooden barrels.

Then my gaze fell on something. I held my breath, quickly moved the lamp away, and cautiously stepped back. When I reached the ladder, I hurried up and let the hatch fall shut.

“Great,” I sighed. “A rattlesnake in bed and barrels of gunpowder in the cellar. The only thing missing for a perfect evening is a grizzly in the outhouse.”

I went to the window and looked out. The moon hung faintly over the plains. Everything was quiet. Only a pack of coyotes howled in the distance.

How was I supposed to catch Bullet Ben? The unbeatable Bullet Ben? The Bullet Ben who had never missed a shot?

In the window glass, my face was reflected. Miray’s face. The unarmed Miray. The Miray who still had to make it through this adventure.

I looked at myself. For a long time. The Miray in the reflection knew how to make it. She grinned at me. Winked at me. Her grin grew wider and wider. And suddenly, I knew it too.

But I wouldn’t be able to put my plan into action until tomorrow. First, I needed some rest. So I prepared my place to sleep and lay down. It was hard and uncomfortable. After a few hours, I drifted off anyway.

The crowing of a rooster woke me.

I opened my eyes and let out a startled scream. A boy stood across from me. He had a round face with freckles, dark hair, deep black eyes, and he wore a red cap that sat crooked on his head.

“Good morning, Miss,” he greeted me, eyeing me curiously.

I took a deep breath. “You gave me quite a scare, boy!”

“Didn’t mean to, Miss,” he apologized sheepishly.

I sat up and looked around.

“How did you even get in here? I locked the door!”

“Cal,” he replied.

I looked at him questioningly.

“That’s my name, Miss.”

“Cal,” I repeated. “My name is Miray.”

The boy nodded. “You locked the front door, Miss Miray,” he replied, grinning mischievously. “But not the back door.”

He pointed to the bed. It was unused.

“Why did you sleep on the table?”

“Because I felt safer up here.”

“Because of the snake, you mean?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it’s still here, Miss.”

“Believing isn’t a particularly good life insurance, Cal.”

I stood up and adjusted my long underwear I had worn during the night.

“I… I should probably go,” Cal said awkwardly, turning away.

Surprised, I looked at him before it dawned on me. From his perspective, my chemise and petticoat were practically nothing. I couldn’t very well explain to him that what I was wearing would almost be considered modest evening attire by today’s standards.

“You can stay,” I said calmly and winked. “But keep it to yourself, okay?”

Cal snorted briefly. “Miss, no one would believe me anyway!”

I forced myself into the corset, tied the kerchief around my neck, and donned my fabric armor layer by layer. As soon as I finished, my stomach growled.

“Do you know where I can find something for breakfast around here?”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, slapping his hand on his cap, “I almost forgot!”

He ran to the back door and returned with a wicker basket. Proudly, he handed it to me.

“Hank was at our farm yesterday,” he explained eagerly. “He said you’re sleeping here in the shop, and we should bring you something to eat.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said, smiling. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Before sunrise, Miss,” he replied. “But I’d be happy to keep you company.”

I cleared a space on the table, set the basket down, and unpacked it. Inside was bread, cheese, jam, some fruit, and a tin bottle of tea. Everything was thought of. I even found a board and cutlery there. I spread everything out and began to enjoy my breakfast.

Cal sat across from me, watching my every move attentively.

“What are you doing in Kiona Bluff anyway?” he asked as I took a bite of my bread.

“I have unfinished business with Bullet Ben,” I said, chewing.

“Bullet Ben?”

The boy almost fell off his chair in shock.

“Just be careful, Miss Miray! He once shot a guy in the saloon who ratted him out. From his cabin on the cliffs!”

I nodded. “Have you ever heard of Chuck Eastwood?”

Cal’s eyes immediately started to sparkle.

“Of course I know Chuck Eastwood! Everyone talks about him. I heard he knows what you’re thinking before you even do. Did you really see him?”

“Our paths have crossed a few times.”

“Don’t tell me he’s coming to Kiona Bluff to get Ben?”

I grinned mysteriously. “Could be, Cal. Could be.”

Cal looked like Santa Claus himself had just announced his arrival.

“Oh boy,” he exclaimed excitedly, “I just hope I don’t miss him!”

The breakfast was more than sufficient. Satisfied, I wiped my mouth, put the things back in the basket, and thanked the boy.

“So, what do we do now?” he asked curiously.

“Now?” I grinned widely. “Now we go shopping. That is, if you have the time.”

Cal nodded enthusiastically. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the smithy.

“What do you need?” he asked as we stood on the street. “There ain’t much here, but maybe we can find you a nice hat. Or maybe a new dress?”

I thought for a moment.

“First, I need some stovepipes.”

Cal jumped back. “Stovepipes!” he repeated loudly. “You’re a real strange Miss! But Luther probably has some. Come on, I’ll show you the store.”

He led me to the other end of the main street. There stood a wide wooden house with a weathered sign: Luther Cobb’s Hardware. In the window were brushes, tools, bottles, and all sorts of small items, and on the porch in front, buckets, barrels, and tubs of all imaginable sizes.

The door was open, and we stepped inside. The intense smell of wood, grease, and rancid oil immediately tickled my nose unpleasantly.

Luther Cobb was an older gentleman with gray curly hair, an equally gray goatee, and round glasses on his nose. He stood at the counter, writing in a book that lay open before him. Behind him, a large wooden shelf took up the wall, stacked with various boxes, cans, and bottles.

Cobb looked up for a brief moment and noticed Cal.

“Tell your father the saw he ordered wasn’t in yesterday,” he grumbled before returning to his book. “Maybe it’ll come with the next coach.”

“That’s not why I’m here, Luther,” Cal burst out. “This Miss here knows Chuck Eastwood!”

Surprised, Cobb took off his glasses and stared at me.

“You know Chuck Eastwood?” he asked, astonished. “People say great things about him. They say he’s got a revolver with thirty bullets in it!”

“That’s right!” I nodded. “And if he wants, he can fire them all at once.”

Cobb tugged at his beard. “How can I help you, Miss?”

“I need stovepipes. About thirty feet long.”

“Thirty feet?” He paused. “That’s a lot, Miss! Are you sure you got your man right?”

“Thirty feet,” I repeated, annoyed. “Do you have them?”

Cobb looked at a corner where several pipes were neatly stacked.

“As you wish, Miss,” he finally grumbled. “With that amount, I’ll give you a discount.”

I waved it off. “I don’t have enough money, but I only need to borrow them anyway. I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

Cobb looked at me as if I had suggested he give me his entire store.

“Miss, I don’t know what new customs you’re bringing from the city, but I don’t lend out stovepipes, I sell them.”

I tapped my nose.

“Can I at least have some window glass?”

“I don’t carry glass!”

Cobb crossed his arms.

“If you have no other requests, Miss… I’ve got bookkeeping to do. Have a good day.”

Demonstratively, he put his glasses back on and immersed himself in his paperwork.

We stopped outside the store. I looked at Cal, frustrated. He just shrugged.

“Miss Miray,” he asked quietly, “what’s a ‘hoard toad’?”

I swallowed. “Did I actually call Mr. Cobb that?”

Cal nodded.

“Then I must have been thinking out loud,” I murmured, embarrassed.

A smirk crossed his face. “Your thoughts are more dangerous than a loaded gun, Miss.”

I looked back at the store door. Cobb couldn’t help me.

“Is there another store that has stovepipes and window panes?” I asked.

Cal had picked up a stone from the ground and was turning it in his hand.

“Unfortunately not, Miss. Luther’s the only one. But there’s a glazier in town, not six miles from here.”

“How am I supposed to get there?”

“You don’t have to.” Cal grinned widely. “The glazier’s coming here in an hour.”

“What…” I began as his rock already crashed through the display window of Cobb’s store.

“Grab the stovepipes!” Cal shouted to me before he ran off as fast as his short legs could carry him.

The next moment, Cobb appeared in the doorway.

“Calvin!” he shouted loudly and sprinted off. “Calvin, if I catch you, I’ll tan your hide!”

I watched the two of them. Cal had a good head start, but Cobb was surprisingly quick for his age. He swung his fist as his boots crunched in the sand. The boy laughed loudly, made a sharp turn, and disappeared behind a house.

I took the opportunity to go into the unattended store and grab as many stovepipes as I could carry. I lugged them to the smithy and stashed them in a corner.

Then I stood in the shadows across from the hardware store and waited.

Cobb returned a short time later. He looked at the hole in his window before growling and disappearing into the store.

An hour passed before the glazier actually came. As soon as he tied up his horse and entered the store, I took the opportunity. I sneaked over to his carriage and took a bundle of glass panes. I wouldn’t need more.

Now only one ingredient was missing: cowboy outfits. I walked along the main street, looking for a clothing store, but at first, I only found a doctor’s office, a telegraph station, a funeral home, and a church.

I finally stopped in front of a general store. In the window hung a farmer’s costume. Not quite what I was looking for, but maybe there was more inside.

The store was crammed with everything one needed to survive. The shelf behind the counter was bending under bottles, canned goods, and jars, with sacks of grain stacked next to it. In another shelf, I discovered household items like bowls, pillows, and bolts of cloth.

Behind the counter stood the two owners, obviously a married couple. He wore a linen shirt under his leather vest, and under his thinning hair sat a pair of round glasses. She wore a gray blouse with a high collar, over which was a colorful apron with deep pockets.

The two were engrossed in a conversation.

“Do you think it’s true that Chuck Eastwood is coming to Kiona Bluff, Walter?” she asked excitedly.

Her husband nodded. “He’s supposed to be on his way. His horse is faster than thunder and more enduring than a locomotive.”

She fidgeted with her sleeve. “I wonder what he looks like?”

“As big as a giant,” said Walter. “And as strong as ten oxen.”

“And his voice?”

Walter looked at her with a frown. “You seem very interested in Mr. Eastwood, Hattie.”

I cleared my throat. “His voice is loud and powerful. If he wants, you can hear it everywhere. And yet it sounds as lovely as a bath in warm milk with honey.”

The two turned to me in surprise.

“You know Mr. Eastwood?” Hattie asked.

I nodded. “Getting to know him better every hour.”

Walter adjusted his vest. “How can I help you, Miss?” he asked gruffly.

“I need three cowboy outfits. Shirt, pants, hat. Everything.”

He looked around the store, then looked at me as if I’d forgotten something important.

“You’d best send your husband by for measurements.”

“I don’t need a man,” I growled. “I’m the measure myself.”

Walter raised his eyebrows. Hattie gave him a stern look, pulled a measuring tape from her smock pocket, and began taking my measurements. She called out numbers to him, and he noted them in a book.

When she was done, he ran his finger through the pages, tapped a spot, and smiled.

“You’re in luck, Miss! You can pick up the outfits in three weeks.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Only in three weeks?”

“What were you thinking?” Hattie asked, bewildered.

“I actually need them by tonight.”

Hattie shook her head indignantly.

“Do you think clothing in all sizes just sits on the shelf? Even if I drop everything else, I need a week to get the materials.”

I scratched my head. “Nothing to be done?”

“Miss,” she said, “not even Chuck Eastwood could manage that by tonight!”

I left the store, leaned against the hitching post, and sighed. It was already afternoon. I didn’t have much time left to get the outfits. I would have asked Cal, but since his prank with the window, he had disappeared. Hopefully, he hadn’t gotten into too much trouble.

Frustrated, I walked down the street. Maybe I was hoping for a miracle: a big clothing store like you’d find in any modern shopping street. What I found instead was the saloon. I pushed open the swinging door and stomped moodily to the bar.

“Looks like you could use a drink,” Clem greeted me and set a sarsaparilla in front of me.

I nodded silently and took a deep sip.

Laughter erupted at the table behind me. The three cowboys were playing poker and drinking whiskey. Still or again, I had no idea. But it was an opportunity to get my mind off things. I turned to the side and watched them for a while, bored.

Then one of them noticed me.

“What’s up, Miss?” he called out to me. “Never seen men playing poker before?”

“Oh, I have.” I approached the table. “How about it, can I join in?”

“Do you even know the rules?”

I shrugged. “I think I know which way to hold the cards.”

The cowboy nudged a chair aside with his foot. I took my glass and sat down.

“Just so you know, we’re playing for money,” he warned. “A dime to get in.”

I rummaged in my bag, pulled out a few coins, and stacked them in front of me. It wasn’t much, maybe three dollars.

“Let’s see how long that lasts.”

“Not long, I bet,” the cowboy muttered and began to shuffle.

“I’m Boone,” he introduced himself. “The other gentleman next to you is Rudy, and the one across from you with the face is Zeke.”

“Miray,” I said shortly, tossed my bet into the center of the table, and picked up the cards Boone had dealt me.

Zeke stared at me like I had a third ear on my forehead. Then he grabbed his glass and took a hearty swig before daring to ask.

“What brings a lady like you to Kiona Bluff?”

“I’m visiting an old friend,” I answered briefly. Then I asked Boone for four new cards.

“Coming right up, Missy,” he grinned. He traded them in and gave his friends a look that was somewhere between pity and mockery.

“Have you heard of Chuck Eastwood?” I asked around. “They say he’s coming to Kiona Bluff tomorrow.”

“Chuck Eastwood!” Zeke exclaimed, pounding the table with his fist. “What a devil! They say he can turn back time just to shoot you again.”

I nodded. “And I’ve heard he can make himself invisible. He’s everywhere. And nowhere.”

I let my gaze sweep through the room, leaned forward, and whispered, “Who knows, maybe he’s already here in the saloon!”

The guys tossed more coins into the pot. I thought it best to fold. Rudy dropped out shortly after. Boone and Zeke kept playing. In the end, the pot went to Zeke. He grinned at me as if hoping for a doggy treat as a reward.

Time passed. We played cards, drank, told stories. Round after round. I lost every single one.

“You just don’t have any luck,” Zeke said as he pulled another pot toward him.

“Or no talent,” Boone chimed in. “Maybe you should stick to embroidery, Missy. Cards are too dangerous for you.”

“One more round!” I pleaded. “I’m sure I’ll have luck this time.”

“Suit yourself, Missy,” Boone growled dryly.

I took the cards, shuffled them, and dealt.

Meanwhile, Clem came to the table. He set a fresh sarsaparilla in front of me, then leaned in.

“Miss,” he whispered, “maybe you should stop before you lose everything.”

I nodded to thank him. But I didn’t stop. I saw it through, calling every raise until my last penny was in the pot.

I watched Rudy intently. He thought for a moment, then slid two more coins forward. Zeke and Boone barely hesitated before calling.

“Well,” Boone said as his coins clinked onto the pile, “been nice playing with you, Missy.”

I shook my head.

“But you’re broke!” Zeke cried.

“I don’t have any more money, that’s true.” I rubbed my nose and slowly looked around. “But I could put something else in the pot.”

Without taking my eyes off them, I undid the top button of my dress. Very casually.

The cowboys turned red. Rudy looked away, embarrassed.

“What… what do you mean?” Zeke stammered.

“My clothes,” I said plainly. “You’re playing against me. If I lose, they’re gone. If I win, yours are mine. But either I leave the saloon in my underwear after this round, or you do.”

The three looked at each other.

“Alright, I’m out,” Rudy mumbled and parked his cards next to his whiskey glass.

I shook my head. “All or none.”

My hand trembled slightly as I picked up my glass and sipped the sarsaparilla. I promptly choked and coughed quietly.

“The Missy is bluffing!” Boone called out to the room.

Zeke and Rudy looked at their buddy, bewildered. He nodded eagerly at them. They hesitated.

“Well, if you’re too chicken…” I said hastily and reached for the pot in the middle. But before I could take it, Boone grabbed my hand.

“You heard the stakes,” he called to Clem. “You’re a witness!”

Clem crossed his arms. “I’m tellin’ y’all right now, and you too, Miss,” he grumbled. “In my saloon, debts are paid. Anyone who changes their mind afterward has to deal with my Winchester. And we settle up in my office out back, not here at the table.”

“Alright, deal!” Boone leaned back, pushing his cards together. “Let’s see who’s about to get plucked like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

Rudy started and tossed his cards on the table. “Didn’t have nothin’,” he mumbled, “but if y’all got somethin’ better, the lady’s done for.”

Next was Zeke. He laid down two pairs, cracked his knuckles, and leaned back.

“Not bad,” Boone said. “But I reckon the pot’s mine.”

With a wide grin, he laid down a full house with three aces.

“That’s it, Missy. Let’s head to the back.”

I nodded slowly, looking at the hand I held. Then I laid it down, one card at a time, savoring the moment.

When I was done, a straight flush lay on the table in front of me.

Boone stared at me, mouth agape. He sifted through my cards, hoping to find a mistake. Any mistake. He turned to Zeke in disbelief, but Zeke was looking at the floor, cursing quietly.

“Shoulda never listened to you idiots,” Rudy grumbled.

“That was fun, guys…” I picked up the deck, gave it a quick one-hand shuffle, and casually set it down in front of Boone. “Now don’t catch a chill on your way home.”

“Gentlemen,” Clem said, nodding toward the door by the counter, “if I could trouble you for your wagers.”

He escorted the three cowboys to the back and returned a few minutes later with a bundle of clothes under his arm and a face that clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

“I’ve seen a lot in Kiona Bluff,” he whispered to me, “but that was new. That was more than just luck, wasn’t it? Where’d you learn to play poker like that?”

“Luck’s for beginners,” I replied. I put on one of the hats and adjusted it. “I had a good teacher: Chuck Eastwood.”

Then I paid my bill, took the clothes, and left the saloon.

I felt a bit sorry for the three cowboys because it wasn’t a fair game. They played on gut instinct and macho pride, while I played with poker strategy, probability, and every tell they betrayed. Rudy fiddled with his cards when he had nothing. Zeke got overly casual when he had a good hand. Boone drank faster when he was bluffing. And me? I played the naive city lady they wanted to see in me.

No matter! I had the last ingredient for my plan. Now I just needed to set the bait.

I found Bullet Ben’s cabin just where the sheriff had described: Near a desert bluff, about an hour’s walk from town.

The cabin was small and looked like a wooden trailer that had forgotten its wheels. It stood in the middle of nowhere. A fence surrounded the property, as if someone might actually want to take this piece of empty wilderness from its owner.

A man sat in a rocking chair on the porch. When he noticed me, he took a pinch of snuff, stood up, and walked toward me. He was short and stocky. His black mustache was scruffy and unkempt, hanging like a brush under his nose. He made up for his relatively short legs with a big hat and an even bigger ego.

“Lost, Miss?” he called out to me. His boots clattered as he swaggered toward me.

“Don’t know,” I replied, blinking at him. “I’m looking for Bullet Ben.”

“You found him. What d’ya want with me?”

“I have a message from Chuck Eastwood.”

Ben spat, a thick drop landing in front of his boot.

“Chuck Westwood! Chuck Westwood!” he cursed loudly. “Since yesterday, everyone’s suddenly obsessed with that guy.”

I looked him straight in the eyes.

“Chuck says he’s coming tomorrow and expects you for a duel, high noon, at Jake’s smithy.” I smirked provocatively. “Unless you’re scared of him.”

“Me? Afraid of that Chick Eastwood?” He let out a scoff. “Never!”

“I could understand. I wouldn’t face a man who casts no shadow.”

Ben spat again.

“All just hogwash, Miss. Go ahead and order a coffin for Chucky! My bullets never miss.”

“So what?” I looked at him calmly. “Chuck’s never been hit by a bullet!”

Ben furrowed his brow. “That’s… That’s not the same, Miss,” he stammered.

“So tomorrow at noon?”

He puffed himself up and wagged his finger. “Tomorrow at noon. And tell that Chip Eastfield to wear his best shirt. It’ll be the shirt they bury him in.”

I left Ben at his garden fence and set off for Kiona Bluff.

By the time I reached the smithy, the sun had already set. My feet ached from the long march, and I was exhausted and tired. But sleep was out of the question. I still had a stage to set up.

I already had the materials gathered. I placed the oil lamp on the anvil, took a hammer from the wall, grabbed a box of nails, and looked over the construction site.

No idea how long I was at it, but dawn was already breaking when I drove the last nail into the wall. I took a step back and admired the result.

“Well, that’s the pug done,” I murmured contentedly and dusted off my hands. “Ben can come now.”

Then I lay down on the table and allowed myself a break. Just for a moment, I thought. A few minutes.

A vigorous shaking woke me up.

“Miss!” Cal shouted excitedly. “Miss, you gotta get outta here!”

I snapped my eyes open. It was broad daylight outside.

I quickly sat up. “What time is it, Cal?”

“Almost noon, Miss,” he panted. “You gotta leave! Bullet Ben is in town. He’s looking for Chuck Eastwood. There’s definitely gonna be a shootout!”

“I’ll take care of myself. Run home, Cal!”

“Is Chuck Eastwood really coming?” he asked. “Oh boy, I gotta see this!”

“No, you’re leaving!” I said sharply. “It’s way too dangerous for you here!”

He looked terribly disappointed as I pushed him out the back door like a dog. But it was for his own good.

I had planned a final rehearsal, but I no longer had the time. Now I could only hope that everything went off without a hitch.

I threw on the clothes, rushed next door, and checked my work one last time. Everything seemed to be in its place, ready for the showdown.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Now the most dangerous part of my adventure was about to begin.

The sun was high in the sky when Bullet Ben reached the smithy. He was a little early, probably couldn’t wait for the duel.

The smithy’s gate opened. Someone stepped out slowly into the sunlight. It was a cowboy. His hat was pulled low over his face, a red scarf tied around his neck.

“Is that you, Duck Needwood?” Ben called out.

The cowboy nodded slowly.

“So you’re gonna try to get me? I’ve seen better ones try!”

The cowboy tilted his head to the side. Then he turned around and went back into the smithy.

“What’s this?” Ben shouted after him. “You’re trapped in there, Threepwood!”

Ben followed the cowboy and stopped just behind the gate. Inside, he was met with complete darkness. The windows were blackened with soot, the cracks in the wood meticulously sealed. He squinted as if that would help.

“You’re too early, Ben!” a voice boomed from the right, loud and ghostly.

“Too early for your own funeral, Ben!” the voice now came from the left.

Ben snorted with rage. “Show yourself, Buck!” he shouted. “Show yourself, you coward!”

The cowboy stepped out of the darkness and stood facing Ben, perhaps six steps away. A beam of light fell from above directly onto him. He seemed to have no face. Above his scarf, only two eyes were visible, ice-blue circles in white slits. His hat floated above him in the air.

“Let’s make this quick, Cockwood,” Ben hissed. “I got a bank heist lined up.”

The cowboy nodded and struck a pose. His right hand dropped to the holster, ready for the duel.

Ben also placed his hand on his revolver.

“You’re dumb, Woodchuck! The darkness hides me, but you can be seen all the way to Mexico.”

The cowboy slowly raised his hand and made a beckoning gesture. Silent, calm, but unmistakable: Enough talk, get going!

Ben didn’t flinch. “Cat got your tongue?” he growled.

They both eyed each other, ready to shoot at the slightest twitch from the other.

Then a slight movement from the cowboy. Ben reacted instantly, drew, and fired. A white mist enveloped the scene. When it cleared, no one was to be seen.

Nervously, Ben looked around. Nothing moved. Dead silence reigned in the smithy.

“I got you!” he triumphed. But he didn’t sound sure.

With a loud hiss, a bright flash of light flared up to Ben’s right. For a split second, the cowboy appeared there in the smoke.

“You missed me, Ben!” the voice echoed. “You missed for the first time!”

Ben whipped his Colt up and fired into the darkness, where the cowboy had just stood.

A second flash, this time to the left. Again, the figure appeared.

“You can shoot all you want, Ben,” warned the voice. “You’ll never hit me!”

Ben spun around and fired again. Then he took a step back.

“Are you gonna run away, Ben?” taunted the voice from the right.

“It won’t do you any good, Ben,” it continued from the left. “I’ll find you anywhere. Anywhere!”

Again from the right: “You can’t hide, Ben! You’re not safe anywhere!”

Then the voice broke into laughter. A wild, crazy laugh. It echoed from everywhere.

Ben fired around him in panic until his revolver just clicked. But the laughter didn’t stop.

“Enough!” he finally screamed. “I give up, Chuck Eastwood! You win!”

He threw his weapon to the ground and fled from the scene of his defeat, running straight to the sheriff’s office.

A hand reached out from the smithy, grabbed the gate, and pulled it shut.

I leaned against a hitching post, waiting for the stagecoach that had dropped me off here the day before yesterday. I had Boone’s cowboy hat pulled low over my face. It was a pleasant shield against the blazing midday sun. A gentle breeze blew through the town, stirring up a bit of sand.

A boy ran down the street. It was Cal.

I waved to him.

He stopped dead in his tracks, puzzled. Then he started laughing and ran towards me.

“It’s you, Miss Miray!” he called out in surprise. “I didn’t recognize you in those cowboy clothes.”

“They look great on me, don’t they?” I grinned. “They belonged to Boone. I won them from him in a poker game. They’re much more comfortable than those impractical women’s clothes.”

Cal laughed loudly. “In a poker game? Boone tells everyone that five bandits stripped him, Zeke, and Rudy of their clothes. So that’s not true?”

“Nope,” I replied, “won fair and square. Tell Zeke and Rudy they’ll find their stuff in the smithy. And Boone, he can have my petticoats. He wanted them so badly.”

Cal tugged at my sleeve.

“If word gets out, Boone might have to share a room with Matt in the saloon. Probably forever.”

“And Bullet Ben?” I asked.

“He got himself locked up. The sheriff says not even Matt was in such a hurry when he got married.”

Cal sat next to me on the post, swinging his feet. I was glad to have a few more minutes with him before I left. He was a loyal friend and a great help.

I patted him on the back. “Did you get into much trouble with Mr. Cobb?”

Cal shrugged. “He didn’t catch me, but he told my pa. And you know what? He just laughed and said next time I should just not get caught.”

“You’ve got a cool dad!” I remarked.

The boy nodded silently. Together we looked down the street. A dog wandered along, lifted its leg on a post, and then disappeared behind a house.

“So you were Chuck Eastwood?” Cal suddenly asked.

I nodded slowly. “Disappointed?”

He shook his head. Excited, he moved closer.

“How did you do that, Miss? It looked like magic!”

I looked at him, shocked. “You were in the smithy the whole time?”

“I wouldn’t have missed the duel for anything in the world!”

“But you could have gotten hurt!”

He waved it off. “I hid in a dark corner, right behind Ben. He couldn’t see me. But Chuck’s voice… It came from everywhere!”

“The stovepipes,” I explained. “I hid them and then spoke into them. One for Chuck from the right, one from the left. Cobb can have them back now. I kept my word: I only borrowed them for a day.”

“But I saw Chuck too! First, he was on the right, and then – bam! – the next moment on the left.”

“Those were two straw dummies with Zeke’s and Rudy’s clothes. For the flashes, I sprinkled some gunpowder in front of the dummies and lit it when the time came.”

Cal looked at me, disappointed.

“When you tell it like that, it doesn’t sound like magic anymore,” he sighed. “But Ben shot at you, I saw it myself! And that was definitely not a straw dummy, you were moving.”

“He even hit!” I said, looking at Cal’s shocked face. “But he didn’t hit me, he hit my reflection.”

The boy looked at me, visibly confused. I owed him a better explanation.

“Have you ever heard of Pepper’s Ghost?”

He shook his head.

“It’s a theater trick. When I was still in school, I built it in a box. You only need a bright light, a glass pane as a mirror, and offstage, a chamber for the ghost to appear.”

“That’s why the glass!” Cal exclaimed, amazed. “Now I get it!”

I shrugged.

“That was all there was to it. The smithy has a little alcove in the back where Jake made jewelry. There’s a hatch in the roof above it. At exactly noon, the sun shines almost directly in. I just had to step into the light, and Chuck appeared in the reflection. When Ben shot, he hit the glass, not me.”

“But your face… you didn’t have one! Your hat was floating above your neck!”

“A little grease and soot, that’s what I used to blacken my face. In the reflection, you can see right through it, like there’s nothing there.”

“And the mist?”

“A bit of flour in the bellows. I worked it with my foot.”

Cal’s mouth was wide open. He understood.

“You beat Bullet Ben!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “And without a gun!”

I nodded. “Yeah. All it took was a myth bigger than his. As long as Ben believes in Chuck, he’ll stay put behind bars. So don’t tell anyone!”

Cal laughed. “Miss, no one would believe me on that either!”

A cloud of dust approached from the other end of the main street.

“There’s my carriage, Cal,” I said.

He looked at me sadly. “Do you really have to go, Miss Miray?”

I nodded. “My job here is done. I have to go back home.”

I took off my cowboy hat and placed it on Cal’s head. It slipped over his head, but he adjusted it. A tear rolled down his face as he looked at me with his dark eyes.

The coachman opened the door and helped me into the carriage. As we drove off, I looked out one last time. Cal ran after the carriage, waving. I waved back. Then I sat down, smiled contentedly, and placed my hand on my wrist.


I applauded softly. “That was amazing, Miray!”

Her face told me she thought otherwise. She paused for a moment.

“The problem with a myth is that it has power. People believe in it. Want to believe in it. And as long as they do, it’s dangerous. So dangerous it can even defeat an outlaw.”

We were already at dessert, a date chocolate tart with sea salt and yogurt ice cream.

I glanced at the man at the next table. Was he just a myth too? He didn’t look like it. He had an aura of wealth about him.

A server approached him with a small tray and spoke to him quietly.

“What do you mean, this card’s blocked too?” the man growled. Annoyed, he took his credit card from the tray and examined it, as if looking for undeniable proof of his solvency.

“This is the second card that won’t work,” he hissed. “There must be something wrong with your reader!”

The man searched his wallet and finally pulled out a business card.

“Then just send me an invoice, damn it!”

The waiter remained polite but was now also audible. “We don’t usually do that, Sir. If you can’t provide a payment method, I’d kindly ask you to accompany me to management to sort this out.”

The man’s voice grew shriller, his tone more threatening. Other guests were already turning to watch the scene, shaking their heads in disapproval.

The maître d’ approached. His expression remained friendly but firm. He whispered something to him. Discreet, but unmistakable. The man turned pale, stood up, and followed him. They left the room while the waiter gathered the items he had left at the table.

Miray and I looked at each other, surprised. Then she smirked and nodded subtly in the direction of the table.

“Myth,” she said. “Tough when others see through it.”

The maître d’ came over to us, visibly trying to maintain a professional demeanor. He asked if we had any other requests.

“I think it’s time to leave,” Miray replied kindly.

The maître d’ nodded. “I hope we’ve provided you with a pleasant evening on behalf of Mr. Nasser.”

“You have,” I replied. “Please convey our thanks for his generous invitation!”

“With pleasure, Sir! I’ll be sure to pass on your thanks.”

We stood up and left the table. I offered Miray my arm. She hesitated for a moment. Then she linked her arm with mine and accompanied me.

“Would you like to take a moment to enjoy the view?” I asked, gesturing to the panoramic window.

She shook her head. “I think there’s been enough fuss for today,” she whispered to me. “We shouldn’t add a panic attack on top of it!”

We slowly strolled to the elevator and got in. The doors closed, and the car descended.

“It was a lovely evening with you, Miray,” I thanked her.

She nodded. Then I looked deep into her ice-blue eyes. She held my gaze, attentive, curious. And suddenly, I had butterflies in my stomach.

“I don’t know if…” she began. Her voice was shy, evasive.

I gently placed my finger on her lips. She didn’t want a relationship, I knew that. But after that evening, I couldn’t let her go as if we were just friends. So I slowly leaned toward her and kissed her on the cheek.

She stared at me.

“What?” I asked, surprised.

“That’s it?” she protested. “No wonder you’re still single, Dian.”

I wanted to say something in response, explain myself, when Miray put her arms around me and pulled me close. Our noses touched. She closed her eyes. And then we kissed, passionately, deeply, without hesitation.

She stayed close to me for a moment, her head leaning against my shoulder.

“I hate this,” she murmured.

“What?”

She looked at me.

“That it feels so good, and yet it’s so wrong.”

A mechanical voice announced that the elevator was about to reach the lobby.

“It’s time,” said Miray, standing up straight and smoothing her dress. “See you on the next adventure, Dian.”

One last time, I looked at her. I wanted nothing more than to take her with me to the sunbathing lawn at the outdoor pool, where my other self was lying on a beach towel, dozing.

I sighed softly. “Yes… See you, Miray.”

Then we touched our tattoos, and the endless void brought me back. Alone.

Episode 5 “Kiona Bluff” v1.0, August 2, 2025