Reaper (#1, Duster and a Gun)

by Gregory Blackman

  The shotgun crashed to the floor and my father grabbed hold of his hand, which was bleeding profusely on the hardwood floor. He looked back at the priest, completely dumbfounded as to how he’d failed.

  Walter stood with pistol in hand and a smirk on his withered old face. He could’ve killed my father if he wanted to, but chose to remind him just who they were dealing with.

  “Now, I can respect a man that cares enough about his boy to defend him with his life,” Walter said as he approached my father, “but Horace’s coming with me and there’s nothing you can do to prevent that. You’ll see your child again… all you need is a little faith.”

  “Ya get the hell outta here—!” my father bellowed.

  The priest pistol whipped my pa and he went down with a thud. I could see the blood pouring from his head, his wounds deep and not likely to close anytime soon.

  “Yeh son of a bitch!” my mother screamed as she lifted me and dashed towards the door. She never even stopped to tend to her husband, thinking only of the threat we faced. With a hand in the air she charged forward, her battle cry echoing throughout the room. “I’ll kill yeh if it’s the last thing I do!”

  “I feel your pain, Edna,” said Walter, sidestepping my mother. “You’ve nothing to worry about… I’ll treat the boy with the respect he deserves; I can assure you of that.”

  He struck my mother with the pistol and she fell beside my father. I wanted to save them from the bad old man, but I just stood there, quivering in my boots. He grabbed hold of me and carried me from the room. I was kicking and screaming, crying for my parents, but it was to no avail. I was the order’s now, to do with as they saw fit.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this, Horace,” Walter said as he put me down and looked me in the eye. “Your calling is too great to waste, you may never thank me for what happened here today… but the world will.”

  Like my parents, he struck me with the butt end of his pistol. That’s when a completely new life began. The next time I awoke, I was living in the south of Italy in the care of strangers. I was no longer a boy, but a tool for use in a war I knew nothing about.

  They educated me, told me of the world and how it’s been tainted by the otherworldly presences that stalk the land. How it was our duty to use the powers bestowed in us to save those we could and fight back against those that would harm us. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I enjoyed the grandeur of it all, but it didn’t take long for the reality of the situation to fester within me.

  I grew to respect Walter, but I never forgave him. I never did learn what became of my parents. It’s not like I could ever go back there and face them, not after what I’d become. Sure, I looked human enough, but a cold and dark heart lay beneath my skin. They’d heal, move on with their life, and maybe even raise another kid. It would be a better life without me in it.

  Chapter Nine

  Duster and a Gun: Reaper

  Gregory Blackman

  Best Intentions

  I woke from the dream covered in sweat and breathing heavily. I don’t know how long I’d been tossing back and forth, but I felt like I’d been dragged across through a war and lost the battle, too. I ran my hands through my hair and tried to gather my composure. It couldn’t have been too late because the moon was still prominent in the sky and shining brightly though my Tavern room window.

  “Beautiful night for a snooze,” a man said from the other side of the room, sheathed in darkness and sitting in a rocking chair. He rocked back and forth for a moment and puffed on his freshly lit cigar.

  I didn’t need to see his face to know that he was grinning from ear to ear, enjoying a moment of my misery and liable to proceed in any direction he pleased. A man like him was impossible to read, his agenda far from the plights of the common man and serving his own greater purpose.

  “Speak your peace,” I said through gritted teeth. “I told you last time just what I thought of your brand of admonition.”

  “Oh, come now, reaper,” said Gabriel as he rose to his feet and sauntered into the light. He was wearing the same porcelain white suit as before with matching suede shoes. I’m sure he thought his look came off as dapper and sophisticated, but to those close to him it just came off as pretentious. “I come to you once again not for yourself, but for those you choose to serve.”

  “Always speaking in riddles,” I said. “Have you ever considered just coming out and telling me what you want? Might save a lot of time, but judging by the stupid look on your face… I think not.”

  “Mock me,” said Gabriel, “do what it is that you humans do when faced with the unknown. I come to you as an ally… but make no mistake, Horace; I can easily become an adversary.”

  “Then allow me the courtesy of putting on my pants,” I said, getting out of bed.

  “Such an obvious defense mechanism,” he replied. “It’s no wonder, I suppose, when you’ve got such glaring daddy issues.”

  “Go ahead,” I said with my weapon drawn. “Say another thing about my pa.”

  “Don’t be such a fool, reaper,” said Gabriel. “We both know that trivial six-shooter would have no effect on me. Pull that trigger and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was right. There wasn’t a thing I could do to remove him from my room unless he saw fit to leave himself. The monsters I hunted were nothing more than scavengers in the night, followers of a master they knew little about. Gabriel, on the other hand, was one of the few leaders of Armageddon.

  “So then, enlighten me with some revelation,” I said, putting the revolver back on the dresser. “What words of wisdom do you come to me with?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “I’ve come to request that you reconsider your actions. The forces of Hell have clouded your mind, bent you to their will.”

  “I’ve heard that from just about every junkie and lowlife I’ve come across.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Gabriel said. “Your fate is predestined, one that must not be deviated from. Yet, as you stand here now, I see a man who has been altered. The path you walk is no longer your own and mark my words, Horace, it’ll be the death of you.”

  “It’s mighty kind of you to show me the light… being a mere mortal and all.”

  “Cynicism doesn’t suit you,” Gabriel replied. “We’ve crossed paths many times… more than most that walk this land. In all those times, I’ve regarded you as barely worth my time. Now, you stand apart in a way you’ll never begin to understand. Much happened in the last two years, Horace, and it’s your duty to find out what that was.”

  “You keep bringing up a past I don’t remember,” I said. “If you’ve got any information of the Abaddon I’m hunting… best spit it out or get your divine ass out of my room.”

  “I know it’s your destiny to hunt the beast down,” Gabriel divulged. “And you would’ve succeeded, too… had you not taken this detour.”

  “Yeah, well things kind of got in the way.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, “the boy. I know all about the boy. Let me tell you, reaper, the boy’s life is insignificant to the grand scheme of things. I would have thought a man of your upbringing would have known that.”

  “Don’t lecture me on my upbringing. My responsibility is to people… not creatures like you.”

  “It was a mistake to save the boy,” he said. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that. Of all the reapers in the world… you’re the only one I thought would understand.”

  “Was it?” I asked. “There’s a young boy near here that would beg to differ.”

  “Would he now?” Gabriel asked. “See, now that’s interesting…”

  I didn’t like his tone, or his implication, but there wasn’t a goddamn thing about Gabriel that I did like. We’d known each other, as well as anyone could every truly know an angel, for over ten years now. He’d show up at the opportune time and take credit for the toils of my order. Since he was one of the only angels to grace us with his presence,
we thanked the heavens that they didn’t send more, and let us carry on with our business.

  “I’ve never trusted an angel before and I’m not likely going to start now.”

  “That may very well be your undoing,” Gabriel replied. “Heaven doesn’t give a shit about this world… they don’t understand what they’d be losing if Hell was unleashed upon the Earth. You’ll always walk alone, Horace, unless you allow me to fight by your side. Discard my words, and you’ll see yourself in an early grave.”

  “A reaper’s grave is always an early one,” I said. “First I’m barely worth your time, now you expect me to believe that you need me? You have any proof to back this up, or is it all just smoke and mirrors?”

  “You must consider,” said Gabriel. “Is saving the boy really worth it?”

  Before I could respond, Gabriel stepped back into the darkness and disappeared from the room. Since his arrival I had wanted him gone, but he didn’t show up unless he wanted to pull my strings like the marionette I was.

  “Goodbye, Gabriel,” I said with a sigh. “Thanks for leaving me alone with my thoughts… that never turns out badly.”

  Chapter Ten

  Duster and a Gun: Reaper

  Gregory Blackman

  Led Astray

  It took a long time to get back to sleep. It was a new day and with it new possibilities in my hunt for the creature known as the Abaddon. I had lost too many days; the trail would have gone cold and its destination a complete mystery. Gabriel wasn’t wrong in that regard. I had sacrificed much for Billy Godwin and his strange old companion.

  I made my way downstairs to the bar with the thought of a bottle of Jack. It was easier to numb the pain than to suffer that was the first thing Walter ever taught me. Sure, he was talking about channeling that anger towards training, and it worked for a time, but as the years grew on, I found that this way worked much better.

  “Hey there, pal,” said the bartender as I entered the bar. “Did you hear the news over the wire?”

  “It’s been a long night,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I reckon its bad news.”

  “How’d you know?” he asked. “You got some of that pre-cognition jazz I keep hearing about?”

  “It’s nothing of the sort, when is it ever good news over the wire? That tech’s so old that they don’t bother using it unless they’ve got bad news… that or blubbering rednecks bellyaching about equal rights.”

  “Aye, a real action hero died last night,” he said with a quiver of his lip. “Patrick Swayze passed away from cancer.”

  “No shit?”

  “I kid you not, pal,” said the bartender. “The Duke himself… I mean, George fucking McLintock… the greatest actor ever to grace the silver screens; may god rest his soul in peace.”

  “I’m going to need a drink,” I said, grabbing a stool at the bar and dropping a few bucks. “Make it two.”

  “Jack Daniels?” he asked.

  “I’m gonna need the strongest drink ya got, mister. I’m suddenly findin’ myself in dire need o’ something stiff.”

  The news cut me to the bone. I had spent countless nights watching his movies with my dad. He was a real hero to me, practically raised me when my parents were busy working the land.

  The bartender passed me two shots of the foulest thing I’d ever smelled. I grabbed one of the shots and poured it onto the hardwood floor and pounded the other back as fast as I could.

  “Sorry partner,” I said, “Hand me a rag… I was just pouring one for the dead.”

  “For Mr. Swayze you can pour out all the drinks you want,” he said.

  The bartender poured another two shots and passed one to me. We sat there for a moment lost in our memories and saying silent prayers for a man that had touched our heart in so many ways.

  “To Patrick Swayze… the toughest son of a bitch in this realm,” the bartender said with a shot raised high in the air. “There’ll never be another like him.”

  * * * * * *

  After a few more drinks I staggered out of the Rusty Nail and towards the stables. I don’t know if it was the death of the actor that affected me so, but I suddenly felt the urge to see Billy, just one more time. Something didn’t sit right with me, whether it was from the only words he ever spoke to me or the cryptic message I received from Gabriel.

  “Is saving the boy really worth it?” I quoted the angel under my breath. “I’ve already saved the damn kid…”

  It took me awhile, but I finally managed to make my way to the house where I left Billy. I’d had a little too much of whatever moonshine that bartender had supplied me with.

  Knock. Knock. Hiccup. Knock.

  “Is anyone there?” I asked, pounding on the door, “I… I said, is anyone there?”

  No response. I could hear someone pacing back and forth, “Mr. Godwin? I’d like ta talk ta Billy.”

  There it was again. I could hear someone behind the door. Still, I received nothing from the other side.

  “Now, Mr. Godwin, ya don’ wanna go makin’ me angry,” I said with a hand on my pistol. “Plenty o’ men ‘ave tried that… they didn’t like what happened next—.”

  “Pardon me, gunslinger,” said a man from behind. “I reckon you better still your hand, lest you want a bullet in the back o’ the head.”

  I could feel the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed up to the back of my head. I’d experienced it a few times and it never did get any more pleasant.

  “Ya got me, partner,” I mumbled with my hands in the air. “Don’t go doin’ nothin’ too crazy, ya hear?”

  “That’s Sheriff, to a piece of scum like you,” the man said. “I heard what you were hollering. We don’t stand for that in this town.”

  “Well then I’ll just pack up an’ leave.”

  “Not like this you’re not,” he replied. “You stink like a man that’s been rolling in a whiskey barrel. I reckon you’ll do much less harm to this town if you’ve had a night to sleep it off in the drunk tank”

  “Now that would be a foolish decision, Sheriff.”

  “Indulge me, asshole,” Sheriff Madsen said as he cocked the hammer of his pistol. “Be decent enough about this an’ I might even let you walk outta here with your six-shooter.”

  “Not bloody likely.”

  “Now get movin’, we haven’t got all day.” The Sheriff said.

  Even half drunk and stumbling I could’ve disarmed the Sheriff in the blink of an eye, fired off a couple shots and laid to rest anyone else that tried to stop me. That would’ve meant a quick getaway and left my questions for Billy Godwin unanswered.

  The Sheriff led me to jail with his gun still pressed to my head. There was a slack-jawed yokel sitting behind a desk, his name prominently positioned for all to see. He was a real slimy looking young man, greased back hair and the patchiest beard I’d ever seen.

  “Nice ta meet ya, Deputy Foreskin,” I said, barely able to control myself, ready to burst out in laughter.

  “That’s Deputy Forsythe, asshole,” said the young man as he got up from his chair. “Right this way, Sheriff. I’ll treat ‘im real good. Some ol’-fashioned justice, ya know?”

  “Better get close with wha’ever god ye pray ta… you’ll be seein’ ‘im soon ‘nuff.” I giggled.

  “Big talk gunslinger,” Sheriff Madsen said as he pushed me towards the only cell in the jail. “You’re gonna sleep it off… an’ if we still got a problem in the mornin’, then you’re just gonna have to spend another night in the slammer.”

  “Yeah, screw ya, too.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he replied. “Get real comfortable… I reckon you’re gonna be here for a while.”

  I knew the liquor was a bad idea from the second it passed my lips, but I was a lost cause. There wasn’t any coming back from the awful things I’ve seen in this life. Most of the times, the alcohol dulled my senses and allowed me a moment of peace. Other times, I’d wind up in places like this… more times than I’d care to admit.

  �
�Oh, an’ I’ll be keepin’ your six-shooter. I’ve gotten mighty fond of it in this short while… think I’ll just have to keep it for myself.” said Sheriff Madsen with a grin.

  I sprawled out on the grimy cot and rested my arms behind my head. If I was going to be here for awhile, I might as well catch up on my sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Duster and a Gun: Reaper

  Gregory Blackman

  Getting Soft

  There wasn’t a single window in this damned jail, I’d been asleep a few hours, maybe more, it could’ve been just about any time of day. My plans consisted of me breaking the deputy’s arm and making off under the cover of night. I’d spent too many days in a cell such as this one and my skin was beginning to crawl at the thought.

  “Hey there, boy,” I said on my bed, slouched up against the wall. “I’m talking to you, Foreskin.”

  “It’s Forsythe, dipshit,” the deputy said with his feet propped up on the only desk, “An’ who else would ya be talkin’ to? It ain’t like someone’s coming to save you.”

  “I’m not the one who needs saving, Foreskin.”

  “Shut ta fuck up,” he grumbled.

  “You don’t know a thing about me, Foreskin.”

  “I know yer type,” he said. “Walk around thinkin’ yer all high and mighty, better than the Sheriffs and Deputies that make these lands safe.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “I don’t care if yer a gunslinger,” the deputy continued. “Ya might even be a train robber for all I know… hightailin’ it as far away as ya can before the Marshals catch wind of ya bein’ here. Or maybe yer just one of those types crazy enough to chase the devil with horns on. I don’t really care which one ya are, dirt bag. All I need to know is yer on the other side of these bars and the Sheriff wants ya to stay there. Good enough for me on even the shittiest day.”