Dutch Van Der Linde. How the mere sound of his name in Lana's head revolted her.

For those torturous number of days she spent alone in that prison room, she had savagely torn pages and pages out of the gifted notebook. Poems, lyrics and fanciful little anecdotes of her former love-drugged self were discounted in a disgusted manner; fingertips scrapped each little page out that had anything to do with the obsessional feelings towards the man who had proved once and for all, that Lana really could not trust anyone.

To make matters worse, Lana had not come into contact with another person since the night Dutch dragged her into the box room kicking and screaming, and tossed her aside like some damaged rag doll. Time had ticked on carefree, whilst the singer stewed and boiled in this poisonous broth of her own self-contempt and rage – feeling like such a stupid floozy for the immense adoration she had held for an incredibly sick man.

Little did she know about the guard on the other side of the door. Mr Morgan had been keeping a silent watch by the door. He had heard the screaming, crying, mumbling – and was trying to gauge the right moment to try and at least get to speak to the songstress.

Lana sounded crazed- awful – crying all hours of the day and night. It seemed, as Arthur predicted, Dutch really had messed her up. She was already a vulnerable girl, what with the somewhat hazy and sketchy background with Harper, and Dutch had just toyed with her already fragile emotions and broken them down even further.

-

Arthur Morgan watched on silently one morning, seeing Dutch, Micah and Bill mount up their steeds and thunder up out of camp like a band of hellbent idiots. With those three gone, it would make it easier for him to try and make his gentle approach to the fragile singer without the fear of getting ratted out.

On that foggy morning, Lana had been laid facing the window, but her eyes were not really absorbing anything. She just looked on, a lost soul – not wishing to feel anything anymore. It came as a real surpise when she heard a voice talking to her for the first time in around a week, albeit muffled through the wall.

"You... uh.... You okay in there, miss? Can I get you anythin'?"

Lana pulled a face to the sound, it was clearly Mr Morgan. Up until now, she had been receiving a small plate of merely crackers or a few oatcakes – and one glass of water to try and last the whole day. He hadn't been putting himself out before now, so why start?

"If Dutch has asked you to talk to me, then tell him to go to hell. I'd rather die than spend a second longer under his roof." Lana spat back, thinking this was just some ploy for Dutch to try and weasel in again. The raven-haired man seemed that twisted enough to try and make a second advance, perhaps this time just to use her for her body consider he seemed hell-bent on trying it the first time... she seethed quietly to herself for letting it happen.

A few moments silence followed, before a small sound of Arthur clearing his throat could be heard. He sounded uncomfortable.

"I ain't really been talkin' to Dutch. Just know you ain't been gettin' proper treatment."

He could say that again – She was being fed morsels like a pet rat.

"Yeah, well, that's how it's gonna be I guess 'til he decides when he wants rid of me." The singer replied, remaining guarded. Mr Morgan may've been saying he had not been speaking to Dutch – but how could she know? He could be lying to try and trip her up.

"... I'm gonna try and see that don't happen, miss." Another reply came, and Lana found this one struck a different chord within her, "So, I'll ask again – would you like me to get you anythin'?"

.... Was he considering helping? Lana did not want to believe it was true, for it could set her hopes up for no real reason. It could still be a trap.

Yet... she was parched and fancied a real bit of food for the first time in days.

Swallowing her pride, she sat up slowly in bed.

"A cup of coffee would be great... and some real food? Besides crackers and oatcakes?" Lana asked, voice slightly hesitant for she was not sure the reception she would receive in his reply.

But much to her relief, there was a compliant 'Sure' before his footsteps sounded- fading down the corridor, accompanied by the musical clinking of his spurs.

Left alone in silence again, the singer wondered fearfully over whether responding to Mr Morgan had been the right choice – it was like she was some caged bird, flapping back and fourth between every possible conclusion and assumption. It drove her mad with uncertainty. She so wanted to have someone to trust, but for now it did not seem a plausible thing at all. For the next few days, Lana decided to test the waters, keeping her guard up and making sure her wits were about her. Hopefully this way, she could work out whether Arthur really would be a reliable person or not.

-

A boat's horn sounded loudly over the otherwise clamouring bustle of the city's working docks. The place was alive with men grafting hard, driving their carts packed with crated goods to and from the waiting ships. Women bustled around the market stalls, baskets filled to the brim all kinds of goods, whilst sellers squawked loudly trying to sell their wares.

The man who silently ran it all behind the scenes of organised crimes, whispered deals and quiet negotiations - stood watch from a balcony ledge of one of the old shops that sat nestled on the street just opposite the dock. His dark eyes studied the hazy horizon – the waters were glazed with a murky fog that gave the sun this wilted light despite the summer months.

Without even having to deter his gaze from the operations going on at the dock, Harper could feel someone meet at his side.

"Any news of her yet?" his low voice mumbled, as his drew his cigarette slowly from between his lips.

From his side, Tommy St Kilroy adjusted his black bowler hat somewhat nervously, his smart black and grey paisley waistcoat matching the man's overall dull pallor.

"No sign, boss. No sign of any of Van Der Linde's boys over the past couple of weeks either." Tommy informed Harper, who tapped the end of his cigarettes musingly whilst grey ash toppled over the balcony edge and dissipated into the smoggy morning air.

Letting out a contemplative sigh, Harper leaned his forearms on the scuffed balcony railing and studied his surroundings thoughtfully, taking another drag of his cigarette whilst St Kilroy waited for a response on bated breath.

"We'll wait longer. Dutch can hardly resist making stupid stunts in this city. He'll be drawn out, sooner or later." Harper mused, and Tommy was admittedly a bit bewildered Harper seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing.

"... are you sure, boss?" Tommy asked a little uncertainly, not able to fathom how his boss could give so little of damn about his girl's welfare. "I mean – they could be doin' anything to her right now." The man fumbled, his Irish accent wavering a little with the questioning.

Harper shot Tommy a look that told the man to remember his station, and immediately St Kilroy's eyes were down subserviently.

"Listen-" Harper remarked coolly, dropping his cigarette to the balcony floor and stamping it out under his polished black brogues, "Dutch Van der Linde may be many things – but he sure as hell won't lay one finger on that girl." Jim remarked with a sneering smile that looked far too wolfish for a man who should of really been out to do anything to save his lady, that's if, he really loved her.

"He's a ladies' man, through and through. Lana is a pretty girl, there's no denyin' that – he won't wanna hurt her."

Tommy wondered over the words, trying to find the right response that would not end up with him getting in trouble.

"But, Boss... in that case ain't you worried about the other kind of things he might wanna do?" Tommy asked, his dark eyes remaining fixed on Harper's expression the whole time. For a few moments, the gang leader was unresponsive, he just looked on silently.

"Well, Tommy-" Harper finally replied after about a minute, "If I found out that's the case – then the only thing Dutch'll be kissin' is his life, when he's sayin' goodbye." Harper seemed to chuckle at his phrasing, clearly thinking that was quite clever.

Tommy laughed along too, thinking it would gain him some sort of approval.

The atmosphere took a menacing turn as the smile disappeared from Harper's face like the cloudy haze covering the sun at that very moment.

"And she'll be gettin' a bullet too."

No explanation why, no reasoning – it was clear though that harper just would've assumed his woman was tainted. A traitor. Even his desire for Lana to be the trophy in his life, could be overruled by the latter that she would be dirtied by Dutch's hand.

Tommy had a sort of ghosted look on his face, his sallow skin seeming to drain even more pale than it already was.

Flashing a sickened smile, Harper patted Tommy's shoulder and skirted around the young lad – his hands in the pockets of his smart black trousers, looking both dangerous and impressionable his black jacket, layered eccentrically over a deep red textured waistcoat. Harper was every bit the gentleman in his attire – yet so monstrous in his ways. He was the embodiment of Jekyll and Hyde.

"So we better find her and hope nothin' like that has happened." Harper announced as he was walking away, his steps confident as he strode tall.

"But... how will we know, Boss?" Tommy called out for some sense of direction, peering for guidance at his mentor who simply half turned and looked over his shoulder.

"Simple – we make her talk. Like we do to everyone else." Harper chuckled menacingly, before disappearing off into the foggy day like an evil entity, his figure seemingly melding into the many layers of mist that drifted about in the early morning of this dense city.

-

~ a few days later ~

Over at Shady Belle, another late summer evening drew in. Pleasant sounds emanated such as chirpy birdsongs and the gentle rustle of the wind through the gold-green leaves of the trees.

At the front of the weathered old plantation house, Dutch was sitting quietly alone in the balcony. Cigar in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other; he had found quiet comfort in those two things over the past two weeks.

"Evenin' boss." Micah's overly obedient and enthusiastic voice sounded from behind him. Dutch barely looked over his shoulder, and instead had a slow sip of his drink.

"Micah." He acknowledged after a few moments, setting the glass back down on the wood floor beside his seat. Only then did Dutch bother to even look at Micah. "Everythin' alright?" he asked somewhat shortly, as Micah had a look about his expression that spelled mischief – like he wanted to stir up gossip. Something that Dutch never quite noted, and everyone else did.

"Oh yeah, just wonderin' what you got planned for that girlie downstairs?" Micah started, turning and leaning his backside against the balcony railings, folding his arms across his chest, rugged red shirt unbuttoned far too generously for anyone else's liking.

Dutch frowned for a moment, and examined the expectant look on Micah's face.

"What I got planned? Nothin' yet." Dutch answered stoutly, drawing his eyes off of Micah to stare back out at the expanse of land beyond the camp. The gang leader seemed overly thoughtful again as he had a slow drag from his brown cigar, the stench of the thing potent in the otherwise fresh summer air.

"Well, you plannin' to keep her in there forever?" Micah asked, laughing in that unsure fashion, "I could get ridda' her if you want me to, boss." He then added. This statement alone caused Dutch to pull a face, he clearly was not in favour of that idea. Despite everything that had happened, and the fact Lana had really angered Dutch with her lack of knowledge – he could not deny that part of his performance to win her over was no form of acting at all. He had a soft spot for the Saint Denis singer. That was evidenced clearly in the fact he knew he could not let any real harm come to her at his hand.

"Just... just forget about it Micah, I'll sort somethin' out." Dutch tried to dismiss, wanting to revert back to his reflective alone time where he could drift endlessly and peaceful in all the big ideas in his mind.

"...you ain't really gone soft on her, have ya'?" Micah's question was aimed a lot tamer at Dutch than it would be anyone else, knowing he would not want to piss him off considering Micah was keen to get in the good books.

Dutch paused, as he gazed out over the balcony – he took in the beautiful peachy shades in that utopian sunset skies – and immediately was transported back to the figure of you those weeks ago, smiling away in the long grass, drenched in juicy late sunlight.

He swallowed hard.

"...I was fond of that girl, Micah." He said simply, barely looking at the blonde haired man, "She... she made me feel how Annabelle used to." He went onto explain, leaning down slowly to pick the whisky glass up off the floor.

"Not that it matters... she chose to lie to me. I'm just findin' hard to let that fact go." Dutch elaborated, a conclusive sigh on his breath as he stared at the bottom of his glass for a few seconds.

"Well..." Micah then stated, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "She's had a coupla' days alone to think. Perhaps she could yet be swayed to tell the truth.." Mr Bell said in that persuasive tone that always seemed to sway Dutch as of late. It was rather like Micah was the snake slowly coiling around his neck, whispering in his ear and telling him everything he should do.

"Maybe.... Maybe I could try again." Dutch sounded hopeful. Within the moment he rose from his seat, whisky and cigar in hand as he turned to make his way through the door back into the house.

"One last chance... clear my head of alla' this." The leader sighed in a laborious fashion, his low voice sounding vaguely mysterious, like a growing storm.

"If she still chooses to lie then.... I know what I need to."

-

In the peaceful fading light of another hot day, Lana had been sitting with her back against the wall just beside the door – reading from one of the undamaged pages of the notebook to the outlaw on the other side:

"-With the daisies, feeling hazy

In the ballroom of my mind,

Across that county line."

With gentle hands, she closed the notebook shut and let out a gentle sigh.

"That's as far as I've gotten with it," she explained, voice sounding animated for the first time in a long time. "What do you think?" Lana asked keenly, leaning her head back on the cool wall as she waited expectantly for the response.

"I think 's very pretty." Arthur replied back, he sounded like he was very impressed with the way her mind could conjure up the prettiest words, "I liked the very first part you read.... 'bout the peaches." He then added about another verse she had spoke aloud earlier.

A small smile clung to her expression, as she clutched the notebook to her chest tightly.

Lana and Arthur had become firm friends over the past few days, despite Lana's earlier reservations- he had been nothing but kind.

There were limited times they could speak, usually through the middle of the day when Dutch tended to go off places with Micah – and the things she could talk about with Arthur were limitless it seemed.

He too, at first, was guarded. He never let on too much, but when the pair of them started talking about journals that was it. He had ripped a page out of his little notebook, and posted it under the door. The moment Lana saw the beautiful drawing he had done of his horse grazing, she immediately recognised this was a man who was nowhere near as tough as he could make himself seem.

From there it went on – and the pair of them talked about poetry and music. Arthur had been sweetly interested in how Lana wrote, and when she had read him a few lines of a potential song he had praised her immensely for the way her mind worked.

It was sweet, he did not seem to quite comprehend the thoughts going on in the singer's mind to create such work – but still found it very astounding and interesting all the same. The pair bonded incredibly well, telling stories and listening to one another talk for hours on end.

Arthur seemed a genuine character – there seemed no hidden motive, just a man who really seemed to be friendly and kind under a stony exterior.

The pair of them often talked about Dutch too. Lana tried not to say anything at all in the beginning, but Arthur had been the first to utter the truth about the man and his disintegrating ways – and Lana felt finally free to open up about the way he had been messing with her head.

"I always knew he would hurt you."

When Arthur said those words, she had felt further reinforced with a bout of pure stupidity. Still, it seemed that from that horrible experience – Lana had gained a friendship worth it. But everyday seemed more and more futile, it was lovely having conversations with Arthur but all the same, she did not know whether she would be there the next day. Dutch could turn around at any moment and be rid of her.

"...Peaches have pretty imagery don't they? Nice connotations.... Sweet, fresh, delicate..." Lana uttered in return to Arthur, pulling herself off the floor as you wandered back to sit on your bed.

"Just'a nice word too, I guess." Arthur replied far less eloquently, "Taste good, too." He laughed to himself, which set the singer off into a small chuckle.

A comfortable silence fell, and Lana found herself staring at the door. She had sort of forgotten what Arthur looked like, she hadn't seen his face in a long time.

"You.... You got any family, Lana?" Arthur suddenly asked, and the question struck her like a fork of bright white lightning. Her dear parents, her heart was breaking thinking about them...

"I..." she took a deep breath to still the urge to cry.

"...You okay?" Arthur suddenly called through the wall, sounding worried, obviously hearing the crack in her voice.

"Yes, I'm fine." The singer replied as controlled as she could, "I was just going to say I do have my parents... but I have not seem them for around 7 years." She sighed deeply, thinking about the last time she was forced to say  goodbye.

"My agent said I would have to leave them if I wanted to be a singer."

Another silence fell, and even without needing any indication, she could tell Arthur was thinking over those words.

He cleared his throat suddenly, "Y'know where they live?" he asked, his voice rather low now.

"Yes... a small house just outside Saint Denis." Lana replied, wondering why he was asking these questions.

Arthur's voice couldn't possibly get any quieter when he finally spoke again.

"Maybe if you want... next coupla' days I could... take you to see them? Get you out of here?"

Her heart physically leapt – the joy of seeing her parents mixed with the anxiety of how he would pull this off.

"How can we get out of here without anyone else seeing?"  She asked worriedly, so badly wanting to be free of this place.

"Just gotta time it right. I know Dutch is on a big job with Micah, Javier and Bill up at the Rhodes Bank on Friday. Could go then." Arthur's voice sounded so clear – like he really had this all planned out. Lana internally gushed to herself in quiet happiness – she wished she could throw her arms around him and thank him.

"Why are you doin' all this for me?" The singer asked, feeling her eyes getting teary. No one had been this kind to her in a long time.

"You're a sweet girl, Lana." Arthur started, clearing his throat again, "I know you ain't lyin' about Harper. You're just caught up in a game that ain't none of your concern." Arthur explained, and his understanding for the situation made Lana feel completely safe in his company.

"I just wanna see you get out of here and away from Harper." He added with a clarity to his tone.

How she wanted that too – a free life, to fly like a bird of paradise and never have to look back at Jim Harper, Dutch Van Der Linde or her agent ever again.

"That sounds perfect." Her dreamy voice whispered out, whilst her mind fantasized about a life unrestricted, opulent and free.

-