Roberts understood the conversation was over and turned, heading for the door.
Pat hesitated to leave. “Please, consider Tombstone. We will need you.”
Holliday looked up. “Miss Garrett, a southern gentleman will always come to the aid of a pretty lady.”
Kate cleared her throat.
“Of course, only when he is permitted to, or when his honor dictates.”
“Thank you.”
Holliday nodded in response and Pat Garrett turned and walked out into the street where Roberts sat astride a fresh horse. She untied her horse from the hitching rail and grabbing the saddle horn, pulled herself up and into the saddle.
“He will come,” said Roberts, turning his horse’s head north and nudging it in the ribs.
I’m not so sure.
Pat urged her horse forward and trotted after Roberts.
It was almost dark when the trail crested a rise and revealed a small distant town. Billie nearly shouted for joy at the sight of civilization and she reined in her horse, bringing the wagon to a rolling stop. This had to be Tombstone, a cattle town by all accounts, and like all cattle towns it would be a dangerous, lawless place. No lights were visible, the timber buildings were nothing more than unadorned and unpainted boxes, dark and ominous in the dying light.
There was something unsettling about this town. It was something Billie couldn’t quite put a finger on, but fear tickled her stomach. She looked for signs of life and saw none and her hopes faded. She slumped back onto the wagon seat. The town looked deserted.
Suddenly, a lone light appeared in a window and Billie sat a little straighter. The small dot of light meant the town wasn’t dead after all. There were people here and hopefully the doctor that would cure her mother.
What awaits me here? she thought, dropping her hand unconsciously onto her revolver.
“We are here, Mom,” she said over her shoulder. Her voice sounded unsteady in the growing darkness.
Her mother remained silent.
“This is where we find your cure.”
Billie flicked the reins and the wagon started moving again.
“…God willing.”
The stuffy room was pitch black and as silent as a boneyard. Thick curtains covered the windows and an unlit lamp stood on a round wooden table in the center of the room. The room’s occupants didn’t require the light. The taller of the two could see in the dark as well as he could see in the daylight as he had spent many long millennia living in the blackness of the abyss.
The shadow-like man stood motionless, a tall, thin shape towering over the other, prostrated on the dusty timber boards before him. The tall shadow-being’s cold hatred for all life oozed from him like a physical force, filling the room with an unearthly coldness and pressing on the bowing man. This impressive being was one of the masters of the shadow realm, the one some called the Shadow Angel—but there was nothing angelic about him. He was totally without mercy or kindness and was quick to anger and kill. When provoked, his otherworldly rage always resulted in death and destruction to all foolish enough to be caught in his presence.
The Shadow Angel’s sight was fixed on the twisted, crippled man on the floor, regarding him with a predatory interest.
The hunchback held his breath, he felt like a mouse before a lion.
“YOU MEAN…” continued the Shadow Angel, his voice rumbling like distant thunder in the confines of the house, vibrating the window glass in their frames. “YOU FAILED? AGAIN?”
Experience had taught the hunchback that his master’s questions might be a trap. And no doubt, a wrong answer would result in his immediate death—it was prudent to remain silent. And he did.
“WELL?”
The floor boards vibrated under the hunchback and he tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly dry.
“Oh, great Prince—”
“YES, OR NO?”
“Yes, my Prince, I’ve failed you…your enemies still live.” The hunchback kept his nose pressed to the floor in total submission, hoping his end would come swiftly and painlessly—his master would never be that generous.
“GOOD.”
What? The hunchback’s mind spun wildly, struggling to grasp what his master meant by ‘good’. It must be a trap.
“THESE LAWMEN UNWITTINGLY ASSIST MY CAUSE FOR THE FINAL VICTORY OVER MY ENEMIES, AND THE DESTRUCTION OF THIS PATHETIC REALM.”
Blood trickled from the hunchback’s nose and dripped onto the floor boards. Communicating with his master was thankfully infrequent, but was always painful. The Shadow Angel’s demonic voice echoed around his head for several seconds before fading.
“How may I serve you, Prince?” he managed to ask, pushing through the pain.
“ANSWER THE DOOR.”
“What?”
Knock. Knock.
The unexpected sound made the hunchback flinch. Cautiously, he raised his head, first glancing at his master then to the door. His master was motionless. The hunchback stood slowly and obeying the shadow angel he moved across the room to the front door. He reached for the door handle, but hesitated, glancing back at his master.
The room was empty and he no longer sensed the coldness of his master’s presence.
Is this a trick? he thought. A test?
His hand hovered above the handle and although he was ashamed to admit it, his hand was shaking slightly. What choice did he have? He gripped the handle, turned it and pulled the door open.
Tombstone’s dark streets were deserted as Billie drove her wagon into the town. The two dead marshals were supposed to take her to a safe house and then to the doctor who would cure Catherine. Where? With no idea where to go and feeling alone and lost, Billie continued down the main street.
It’s too quiet, she thought and shivered, although the air wasn’t cold. This place gives me the creeps. Where is everyone?
Half-expecting to see someone watching or some hideous monster to leap out at her, Billie scanned the murky spaces between the dark buildings. But nothing attack her.
It’s probably just a normal town. Still… Billie slid her revolver from its holster, resting it in her lap. “Just in case…” she muttered.
Halfway along the street Billie pulled hard on the leather reins, slowing the wagon to stop. In the dim light, she could just make out a sign above the front door of a two-story building;
Physician and Surgeon’s Office
Tombstone
This is it. We made it.
“Ma, we’re here. We found the doctor.”
Catherine remained silent.
Relieved, Billie holstered her gun and leapt down from the driver’s seat. Taking a few steps, she moved onto small porch and stopped before the door. Billie didn’t notice that the building was dark and as quiet as a graveyard.
We are safe.
Billie raised her hand to knock, but looked down at her clothes. She wore men’s clothes and far too large for her small frame. Dark splotches speckled her torn shirt and she was horrified when she realized they might be blood stains. Quickly, Billie dusted down her clothes as best as she could and tore off a shirt pocket that was hanging by a thread. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve and straightened her father’s old hat on her head.
That will have to do. They’ll understand.
Knock. Knock.
The sound seemed loud in the still night air and a nervousness washed over her. She glanced over her shoulder, then up and down the street. The town looked deserted.
No one’s home.
She raised a fist to knock again, but the door squeaked open on noisy hinges, leaving her hand hanging in the air. Billie step backward and peered wide-eyed into the house’s dark interior, expecting the worst.
Suddenly, a dark hunched shape appeared in the doorway and Billie squeaked in surprise and went for her gun.
“What do we have here?” said a woman’s voice, old and frail sounding. “Bless me, if it isn’t a young girl.”
The speaker stepped
out of the darkness and onto the porch. It was an old, grey-haired woman who would have been much taller if she wasn’t bent over at the hips. She has to be one hundred, thought Billie, studying the old woman’s weathered face. It was full of wrinkles and the edges of the woman’s lips were marked with deep creases. There was a coldness to the woman although she smiled warmly. She had the look of a stern school ma’am.
“What’s your name, my little angel?” the old woman asked kindly.
“I-I’m Billie,” she stuttered and remembering her manners, Billie removed her old battered hat and offered the woman her hand. “Billie Bonney, ma’am.”
“I’m Mrs. Tunstall,” said the woman, taking Billie’s hand. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Billie.”
Billie shook the woman’s hand. Her dry skin was cool to the touch.
“The doctor is on a house call, but he’ll be home soon enough,” said the old woman, releasing Billie’s hand. Slowly, the bent woman stepped to one side and indicated the open door. “Please come in, my darling. You are home now.”
THE END
To be continued…
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Books in the Sky Fire Chronicles:
Short Story: The Texan and the Egyptian
Book 1: Billie the Kid
Book 2: Doc Holliday
Book 3: Coming Soon in 2018
Doc Holliday_The Sky Fire Chronicles Page 18
