He stood, his shoulder leaning against the rough, peeling brick of the cell wall. He hadn't moved in hours, not since they'd shoved a plate full of slops under the door and jeered at him to enjoy his last meal. He had ignored them, and the plate and they had left. The scratch and skitter of claws and the rustle of small bodies announced the stealthy appearance of his 'cellmates,’ intent on seeing that gruel and bug infested bread weren't wasted. Then even those small sounds faded and he was alone.

With eyes that were just level with the bottom of the high, barred window he watched the night sky. He hadn't moved but the stars had, steadily marking off the hours and minutes remaining to his life. He had watched the moon rise in the sky, almost full, rich with promise. She was an old friend, La Luna, the lady moon. Many nights he'd spent talking to her and she had given him her aid, both as the hunter and as the hunted. Now she kept him company during this long last vigil. He had almost cried at the feeling of abandonment when the clouds had threatened to take her away but she had struggled free and stayed with him. He was grateful for it.

She was, he thought with a small smile, all he had. When she climbed into the sky tomorrow night, who would mourn that Johnny Madrid no longer breathed?

He sighed then and his brow furrowed. It was truly over. Dios, he was finished and he had nothing to show for his time. His monument was a pile of tombstones, his history written in blood. His choices and pain were all for nothing, and that hurt with an ache deep in his soul that made the bloody stripes on his back, the bruises and cuts on his body pale to nothing.

He rested his head against the edge of the window and hoped without hope that the priests were wrong. That there was no heaven and no hell, that it simply ended. Ah, Dios, please, let it end, and then some peace. He snorted softly to himself and rolled his head against the sill. There was little chance of that. He knew what he had earned and peace had no part in it.

He opened his eyes and found the moon had moved beyond his view, her battle for the skies almost lost. In the east the stars had begun to fade, turning their backs against the coming of the sun.

He shuddered suddenly, and knew it for fear. His eyes closed and he breathed in deep through his nose. His hands gripped the chain that bound them together and he shuddered again. He thought that he had come to terms with death. He had flirted with it, had dealt it out to his enemies and had expected it himself. Dios, he had even longed for it from time to time. He had lived with it intimately and had not feared it. But he had always thought his death would be angry and hot, a quick and violent dance with the devil. He’d never imagined it like this, Mother of God, not like this. Not this long slow wait while the cold of night crept into his bones and blood like a preview of the grave.

Somewhere outside a cock crowed and it cut through him like a knife.  His eyes darted to the horizon where a triumphant sun blazed on the edge of the world. Then he closed them. So soon! Not yet! Panic tugged at the edges of his mind but he pushed it down and reached for his pride and for the anger that had sustained him for so long. It was all he had left and he hoped it would be enough. A tiny smile touched his lips. For Johnny Madrid, it would have to be enough, just enough.

He opened his eyes again and watched the dawn pour over the land. Down the corridor a door clanged open and heavy boots marched toward his cell.