The sweet taste of whiskey trickled down the back of Cullen Bohannon's throat as smoothly as silk. It was night and the air was filled with the scent of smoke from the smoldering fires littered around the camp providing minimal light to the few still awake.
Cullen couldn't sleep. His mind was constantly moving, constantly at unrest, and it was all he could do to bury himself in liquor in hopes that oblivion would bring him some much-needed nightly peace.
He stood beside the train car that had recently become his latest place of residence. His shoulders leaned back against the solid wood and metal, giving him some support as the very beginnings of oblivion began to slowly take him over.
From what Cullen could tell, most everyone was either asleep or quiet enough not to tell the difference.
It was the witching hour, as some called it.
Another swig of booze went down Cullen's throat and a sigh of relief soon afterwards.
He was waiting.
Cullen's eyes were fixed on the darkened train car of Mr. Thomas Durant.
A creak of a door opening softly filled the night and Cullen's trained eye caught the faintest glimmer of blonde hair from the cascading moonlight as Mrs. Lily Bell swiftly exited Durant's abode.
Cullen stared hard at her, observing her every movement as she silently and stealthily maneuvered her way across the camp back towards her tent. She was unaware of his watching her, as Cullen had been watching her perform this same task every night for the past week.
She paused just before she entered the dirt spattered flap to her tent, her hand poised on one of the rails. He watched her take a long, pained breath before entering and closing the flap behind her.
Cullen spit towards a dying fire, its embers briefly flaring at the action. He felt ill and did not attribute it to the empty liquor bottle.
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