The Eyes of Mictlan Origins: Dalton

by Michael Rappa

lit up. “Good answer! If you had said something wishy-washy like ‘true love’ I would have had you for lunch. There’s nothing I hate more than a wimpy man. But revenge, now that is something I can get behind, and it’s the same reason I decided to become a vampire.” She smiled at the shocked look on Dalton’s face. “Yes, that’s right, I am a vampire, and by turning you into one I can heal you of your wounds and allow you to take your revenge. Or, if you find such an existence distasteful, I can devour you. So the choice is yours. Live or die. And make it quickly; I don’t think you have much time left.”

  Now that he knew the true nature of this woman, Dalton was repulsed at the site of her—and at the thought of becoming like her. But then he remembered what Rush had done to his wife—to his children. He imagined the scumbag sitting in a saloon somewhere and having a laugh with his gang. No. He couldn’t let himself die while that monster still drew breath. He had to pay. Dalton mustered his last ounce of strength and said, with surprising force, “Live!”

  “Excellent. You’ll be a fine addition to our family; Xavier will be pleased. You will live and hunt with me until you are strong enough and experienced enough to go out on your own. Then, once you have taken your revenge, I expect you to return to me. My name, by the way, is Marina.”

  VI

  George Walker sat at the poker table in the Ransom saloon. It was his first night back in town after six months of exile. The citizens of Ransom had not reacted very well to the killings that night. After hanging the judge and his family, the gang had returned to town, barged into the whorehouse, and partied the night away. When they emerged from the brothel the next afternoon, they found themselves facing an angry mob armed with pistols and rifles. The mob immediately opened fire, a bullet narrowly missing Dick’s head. The gang ducked back into the brothel and fled out the back door, shooting their way to their horses and fleeing town.

  When they finally stopped for a rest, Dick seethed with anger. “How dare they run me out of my town!”

  “It might be good to lay low for a while, let the town cool down,” Hollis said.

  “You’re probably right,” Dick replied. “There are plenty of other towns around here to have some fun in. Then we’ll come back and re-establish order.”

  “How would we do that?” George asked.

  Dick turned and spat on the ground. “We pick off every one of the ring leaders of that so-called mob . . . and their families. The rest will fall in line soon enough.”

  So they waited, and when the time was right, they struck. And now they ran this town.

  As midnight approached the saloon began to empty out. George, already down several hundred dollars, was considering calling it a night and joining his buddy Riley in the brothel. Of course he would first have to get his money back from the two gentlemen sitting across from him—by force if necessary.

  At that moment the swinging doors creaked as a man George had never before seen entered the room. Dressed completely in black, from his hat down to his boots, and sporting a full dark beard that obscured most of his pale face, the man sat down at the bar and dropped a gold coin onto the counter.

  “Whiskey,” he said to the bartender.

  The bartender stared at the gold coin then glanced quickly at George before turning his attention to the man in front of him. “Coming right up.”

  Now where would a scruffy runt like that get a gold piece? George thought. He decided to fold his current hand and make his way to the bar to see if there might be more gold where that came from. “That’s it for me boys,” he said to the two men at the poker table as he rose from his seat. They could leave with their winnings tonight; there would be plenty of time to shake them down later.

  The bartender filled a glass with whiskey and placed it in front of the stranger. He saw George approach the bar and decided to subtly make himself scarce out the back, leaving the gold piece sitting on the counter.

  George sat down on the stool next to the stranger and picked up the gold piece.

  “That doesn’t belong to you,” the stranger said calmly, staring into his glass without even looking in George’s direction.

  “Settle down there, buddy, I’m just taking a look. Don’t see too many of these 'round here. Where’d you get it?”

  “None of your business.” The man continued to stare straight ahead.

  “You’re not being very hospitable, friend,” George said, growing annoyed.

  “I’m not your friend,” the man replied, still refusing to meet George’s eyes.

  “I don’t think you realize who you’re talking to. But since you’re a stranger here I’m gonna cut you some slack and just keep this piece of gold as payment for your rudeness . . . and any other coin you may have on you.”

  The stranger finally turned and stared into George’s eyes. “If you don’t drop that piece of gold, we are going to have a problem.”

  “Is that right?” George asked in a raised voice, a smile forming on his face. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Sensing trouble, the remaining patrons in the saloon quickly cleared out, leaving George alone with the stranger. There was something about those eyes that seemed so familiar, but George couldn’t place it.

  The man rose from his seat. “I’m going to send you to hell.”

  He said it so calmly. A chill ran down George’s spine and he was suddenly afraid, though he wore a face of nonchalance. Those eyes! Where have I seen them?

  George pulled his revolver and fired—but his trigger finger fell on empty air. His jaw dropped as he stared at the barrel of his own gun pointing at him from the stranger’s hand. He started to stammer, “Wha . . . wha . . . how—”

  “Shut up, Walker,” the stranger said as he pistol-whipped George repeatedly in the head, sending him plummeting to the ground in a bloody heap.

  George looked up through blurry eyes as the stranger knelt down over him and pressed the gun against his head. “Who are you? How do you know me?”

  The stranger removed his hat and leaned in until their faces stood inches apart. “Look harder.”

  Sudden realization dawned on George and his heart skipped a beat. “You? That’s not possible. You’re dead!”

  “No, George, my wife is dead,” Dalton replied. “My children are dead. You weren’t merciful enough to make sure I had died as well. So here we are.”

  “If you kill me, Dick and the boys will be on you like flies on shit. You’ll wish you had died that night.”

  “I already wish I had died that night. Dick doesn’t scare me anymore. I’ll deal with him soon enough. And no, George, I’m not going to kill you.”

  George grinned. “Still the lawman, eh? No jail’s going to hold me.”

  “Oh no, George, I couldn’t be further from the law. You’re not going to jail, either.”

  Now it was Dalton who grinned. George didn’t like the look of that grin one bit.

  VII

  Riley Williams lay in his bed between the two whores he had just spent the last hour messing around with. Things had become a little rough, as they tended to do when Riley was involved, but the girls in this brothel had grown used to a few bumps and bruises over the last several months. The Rush gang had completely taken over the brothel after killing the madam. Now the girls worked for them. The entire gang lived in the brothel and the prostitutes had been forced to service the gang on a daily basis to “earn their keep.” A few girls had tried to escape the house a couple of months ago but after the gang had finished mutilating them no one ever tried again.

  With the Rush brothers out of town until morning and George over at the saloon, Riley had the entire house to himself tonight—and he had taken full advantage of it. In fact, it was just about time to kick these two whores out and bring in the next two. Of course that would mean getting out of bed since they kept all of the girls locked in their rooms, and he hated getting out of bed. Still, there were a couple of whores in the house who he hadn’t fucked tonight, and he couldn’t let them get of
f that easily. It wouldn’t be fair to the other girls. He smirked.

  Suddenly, the door to his room slammed open to reveal a dark-bearded cowboy dressed completely in black, brandishing dual revolvers. The two girls screamed and Riley hollered, “What the fuck!”

  “Ladies, leave,” Dalton commanded.

  The two girls jumped up and dashed out of the room without even bothering to get dressed. Dalton stepped into the room to let them by.

  “Who the hell are you?” Riley demanded in a show of more bravado than he was actually feeling.

  “I am your judge, jury, and executioner.”

  VIII

  The cries and moans that woke up the town early the next morning were followed shortly by horrified shrieks from the first witnesses to arrive on the scene. In the center of town, George Walker and Riley Williams had been impaled on large stakes that rose ten feet high. The stakes had entered their bodies between their legs and emerged through their necks. Both men were suspended several feet above the ground.

  Dick Rush arrived that morning with his brothers to find a crowd gathered around the ghastly site. After pushing his way to the center he stumbled backward in shock, his face turning pale. He quickly covered up his terror by lashing out at the people around him.

  “Who the fuck did this?” he screamed. He grabbed the man closest to him by the collar. “Answer me!”

  The man said nothing, merely whimpered and pointed.

  Dick turned