A fic based on the music video for 'Die Schlinge'. Somewhat brief, but it more or less covers tht material in the video. I had fun. ^.^
The town of Twin Peaks was very ironically named because there were no mountains around for miles. Nothing but arid desert. Stefan wondered again what they were still doing here. He, Thomas, and Robert had stopped in Twin Peaks on their way to California for supplies, but having spent all their money already, they had to take on odd jobs to get those supplies. Now, they were stuck repairing wagon wheels and roofs and whatever other jobs the locals could devise. It was depressing.
Stefan took a long drink from his tin mug. The trio had planned on being in California by now. At this rate, there wouldn’t be any gold left by the time they got there. Setting his mug on the table with a heavy sigh, he noted the mayor, Sheriff Wilder, and another man entering the bar.
Ever since the word had gotten around about his inherited accent—Stefan’s parents had immigrated from Germany shortly before he was born, and he had grown up speaking German—he had been the target of suspicion from both the mayor and the sheriff. Apparently, outsiders were not well trusted in Twin Peaks. Probably typical of an isolated town like this, where everyone had known everyone else for generations.
He took another drink. His father would be horrified to know what poor quality beer his son was drinking out West. Just how much had he drunk anyway? There was an agitated fuzziness in his head. Robert and Thomas had been drinking pretty hard too, right? It felt like they were being watched. Stefan turned slightly.
Was it just alcoholic paranoia or were the mayor and Sheriff Wilder watching them? “Robert,” he murmured coolly, trying to look nonchalant, “are they staring at us?” Robert glanced over. Sure enough, the pair had their eyes trained on them, talking in low voices. The third man looked uncomfortable. Their glances didn’t go unnoticed.
“And those damned Europeans…” Stefan heard the mayor say loudly. He rose quickly, unsteadily, almost knocking the chair over in the process. His hand automatically went to his gun.
“What’d you say ‘bout Europeans?” Stefan shouted, turning. There was a wood-on-wood scraping as Robert and Thomas stood on either side of him.
“I said you can’t trust those riff-raff immigrants as far as you can throw ‘em.” The mayor replied, a dark gleam in his eyes. “Comin’ and stealin’ jobs from hard-working Americans.” Stefan’s gun slid from its holster.
“My father slaved for years in a small town in Germany to save enough for passage so him and my Mutti could raise their children in the land of plenty. He ain’t done nothing your ancestors didn’t do to get you here, you fat…” Stefan was cut off as the mayor’s fist caught him square in the mouth. With a yell Stefan swung back, a hard blow to the gut.
“You dirty foreign b*****d…” The mayor gasped, slipping his pistol from his vest. Like lightning, Stefan fired a shot. It caught him in the forehead; a single, lethal bullet. Almost immediately, Stefan felt the wind gone from his lungs. His gun fell to the floor with a dull clink. As he gasped for breath, Sheriff Wilder tugged his hands behind his back and the cold metal of handcuffs brought ice through his firey veins. Thomas and Robert swore up and down as they were cuffed too, presumably by Wilder’s deputies.
“Hope you’re looking forward to a cold cell, you filthy bastards.” The Sheriff sneered. “Judge Sanders won’t even need an hour to put you three in the gallows.”
After the trial, they had been put in separate cells to await their death sentence. Hanging. They could hear the construction of a gallows outside. The townsmen had been working all day.
The trial had been anything but fair. Both Judge Sanders and Sheriff Wilder were good friends with the mayor. Even when given the chance to explain that the mayor had been taunting Stefan to begin with and that the mayor had thrown the first blow, no one listened. Most of the evidence that had been compiled against them was false. It seemed like the town had been planning to get rid of them for quite some time. No one believed the outsiders. Judge Sanders had immediately sentenced them to death. That night.
Stefan sat on the cold, stone floor of his cell. His parents would never know what became of their son. Would never know that he had been hung for shooting the prejudiced mayor of this little s**t town. Angrily, he rose to his feet and shook the bars of his cell. “Damn it!!” There was a soft rustling in the shadows. “Who’s there!?” He shouted.
“Shh…” a young Indian woman holding a strange flask stepped into the half light. “I am here to rescue you.” She poured a few drops from the flask onto the lock of his cell door. It hissed and bubbled violently. “I will come right back, but now I must get your friends.”
Stefan heard the fizzing once down the hall before it was drowned out by the shouts from outside. It must be getting near the hour they were destined to die. The Indian girl returned and pulled the door open. Whatever she had put on the lock, it worked.
“Come, we must get your friends, Stefan.” He grabbed her arm.
“Wait. How’d you know about all this? Who are you?” She tugged him along.
“My Christian name is Maria. My little son was watching your trial through the window this morning and ran home to tell my father and me what happened. He said white men were going to die for killing the evil man. My father believes you were sent to save our people from oppression. So he sent me to rescue you.” She said, pulling open the doors to first Thomas and then Robert’s cells. “Come, I have horses waiting behind the prison.” They stole quickly into the dark, and luck was with them as they made it outside the prison. However, their good fortune stopped there.
Dero swung up onto the first horse, giving a hand to Maria and pulling her up as well. Robert and Thomas mounted quickly, and the group galloped out immediately. There were loud shouts. They couldn’t hide the hoofbeats, and they had the misfortune to be careening around the edge of the prison that the torch-bearing mob happened to be watching. “Hey!” Someone shouted above the din, “ They’re gettin’ away!!” Gunshots. And suddenly there was a searing pain in Stefan’s chest. He was almost knocked off his horse by the force of the shot and the blinding pain. Maria screamed. It was only her arms holding tightly to keep him in place that kept him from falling. And then he blacked out.
Fire in his throat. He thought he remembered an old man, and a cup of burning liquid. When he woke up, Sheriff Wilder was there and Robert and Thomas were sitting on a pile of straw in a musty, broken down barn with gaping, bloody holes in their heads. Stefan cried out as another bullet flew toward him, the one that would kill. He blacked out again.
The next time Stefan awoke, he felt much better. His chest still hurt, but he was awake, and could get up. The barn was empty. So that much hadn’t been nightmare. There was a strange schuff, schuff sound from outside, almost as of shovels in dirt. He got up, curious to observe his surroundings. The barn door was half open, and he pushed it open the rest of the way. Warm sunlight hit him square in the face. It felt good. He stretched, surprised at how slight the pain in his chest was. Thunk. Thomas and Robert dropped their shovels in astonishment. They all stared, open mouthed.
“What?” Stefan asked, looking from shocked face to shocked face and back again.
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