Hell's Highwaymen

by Phillip Granath

  “What about the rest of you? Anyone else notice anything odd? Remember or see anything peculiar?” Cort pushed.

  “Not a damn thing,” Jamie replied a little too quickly.

  Cort watched the gunslinger for a moment and then shook his head before shifting his gaze. When they landed on Jerry the little man simply shrugged in reply. Then he turned and looked squarely at the priest. Father Callahan stood behind one of the chairs his hands gripping the wooden back tightly.

  “Padre?” Cort prompted.

  “Nothing, not a damn thing!” Father Callahan snapped back in reply.

  “You sure? You seemed to be hitting the bottle a bit harder than usual since we got back,” the Lieutenant pointed out.

  “I’m the fucking priest here, not you! I don’t have to confess shit to you or anyone else,” Callahan snapped.

  The priest then released the chair and turned to head back to his own table. Jerry watched the man of God retreat, and it became quickly apparent he wasn’t likely to complete the short trip. He had sat across the table and watched the young man drink in earnest more times than he could count in this place. But this was perhaps the first time he had ever seen him truly drunk. The Priest swerved and staggered through five precarious steps that separated the tables and then just when he had nearly made it back to his seat his boot caught on a table’s leg, and he pitched forward.

  The table upended sending a dozen empty shot glasses and the priest’s heavy Bible cascading across the floor. Father Callahan landed face down in the pool of the bloody liquor and broken bits of glass. He made the briefest of attempts to rise and then seemed to abandon the endeavor. At least for the moment, the drunken Priest seemed content to remain face down on the saloon floor. Cort looked down at the scene and just slowly shook his head. The Lieutenant then turned and returned to the rest of the riders. Jerry was the only one that moved to help the prostrate man.

  “Come on now father, get up,” Jerry coaxed trying to pull Callahan into a sitting position.

  “Fuck you!” the priest replied.

  “You're acting like a child…” Jerry began, but then his eyes locked on the bloody floor a few feet in front of them.

  “Father! Look,” Jerry said shaking the priest.

  “I don’t want to fucking look!” Callahan snapped back.

  “Damn it, just look!” Jerry shouted pulling Callahan’s head up by force.

  The Priest tried to resist at first but then stopped when his eyes fell upon his old Bible. The thick leather-bound tome lay where it had fallen, and its pages had spilled open. The book that had once been filled with faded gray pages was now adorned in sheets of vibrant white. The pages danced with shimmering gold lettering in an intricate old English script. The borders and edges of the pages were decorated with brilliant designs. A creeping Ivy grew along the spine in hues of verdant green while birds in every shade of blue imaginable soared and dove between the paragraphs. The top left corner of one of the pages was now the home of a small dragon with scales of fiery crimson and breathed flames of burnt copper. It was single-handedly the most beautiful thing that Jerry had ever seen, and that was just a single page.

  Without warning the young priest surged up to his hands and knees sending the startled Jerry tumbling backward. Father Callahan then desperately scrambled through the broken glass towards the open Bible. When the priest finally crouched over the faded leather book he paused for just a moment of silent reverence before lifting it. Though the Bible had sat in a small lake of bloody red liquor, not a drop or single stain marred its aged leather. He stared at that single page for a moment in silent awe and then slowly turned to the next. Jerry sat by awkwardly watching as the priest thumbed through a few more pages then closing the great book carefully he grasped it to his chest and quietly began to weep.

  Not sure what else to do and not sure what it could mean Jerry looked back at the other Riders. Cort had returned to watch as Jamie and Oliver prodded Shinji with a series of mostly useless and misguided questions. Something was affecting all of them, changing the rules that governed this world it seemed. As Jerry considered this his eyes fell upon the young Junky still tied to his chair.

  “Holy Shit!” Jerry shouted and leaping to his feet pointed at Danny.

  “It’s him, it’s all because of him!”

  All conversation in The Rose stopped as the riders turned to stare at Jerry.

  “Just what the fuck is he going on about now?” Jamie demanded.

  “Think about it, things were normal around here, I mean normal for this place. Then Paradox shows up and demands that we go after this kid. We ride out, and it’s business as usual, but then we find him, and on the ride back its all daydreams and forgotten memories. By the time we get back here Shinji can speak, Father Callahan’s Bible is restored, and Oliver can remember his family. It’s the Junkie, he’s causing all of this!” Jerry concluded pointing at Danny.

  Cort’s eyes narrowed and then shifted from Jerry to the tied-up Danny. The teen looked away out of sheer reflex.

  “How?” he asked simply.

  “I don’t know, but there is just no way this is all just a coincidence,” Jerry replied.

  “Paradox,” Father Callahan said looking up slowly from his book.

  “What about him?” Cort asked his eyes remaining on Danny.

  “He plans to build a fiefdom, his own little kingdom here in hell. And his first move is to send us out to track down this boy. Out of all of the souls in all of Hell, this one boy. It stands to reason there must be something special about him,” Callahan pointed out.

  Cort took two measured strides forward to stand in front of the subdued teen. “Is that right boy? Is there something about you we need to know?”

  “There ain't nothing special about me man,” Danny replied, his eyes never meeting Cort’s gaze.

  “Then what would a demon want with you?” Cort demanded.

  “A what? What the fuck are you talking about?” Danny snapped back, his eyes darting around the room.

  “His name is Paradox, and he’s got a real hardon for you sunny Jim,” Jamie cut in.

  Danny shook his head in disbelief, “You’re all full of shit. You’re just trying to scare me!”

  “There is plenty to be scared of around here son, but it’s not us,” Father Callahan said.

  “Fuck this,” Danny said dismissively his eyes turned to stare at a spot on the floor.

  Cort’s eyes followed the teen’s gaze and found where the syringe had come to rest on the saloon’s floor, a thought crossed his mind then.

  “We’ve tried the stick. Now let’s try the carrot,” he muttered to himself.

  “Give us a hand,” Cort commanded and then bent down and uprighted the table.

  Jamie, Oliver, and Shinji left the card table to join them. Cort stepped behind Danny’s chair pushing it and the captive boy up to the table.

  “Now take a hold of his arms, but don’t touch his skin,” Cort directed.

  Oliver and Jamie did as they were told as Cort drew his saber.

  “Hey man, what the fuck is that for?” Danny demanded.

  The teen began twisting in his chair trying to look at the Cavalryman standing behind him. Cort cut the improvised bindings at Danny’s wrists with two quick slashes. Jamie and Oliver immediately grabbed ahold of the teen’s arms forcing them each down flat on the table.

  “Hey what gives?” Danny asked, the barest hint of fear now creeping into his voice.

  The Lieutenant sheathed his saber and bent down to scoop up the needle from the floor. He held it up in front of Danny, and the young man’s eye immediately grew wider.

  “You want this?” Cort asked.

  “Yeah man, just give it here,” Danny replied quickly.

  “Well, I want answers. You give me what I want, then you’ll get what you want,” Cort said simply.

  “You can’t be serious?” Father Callahan asked looking up from his Bible again.

  Cort shot the prie
st a look that made it clear he was completely serious and then prompted, “Understand?”

  Danny nodded his head in reply, “Yeah, yeah I got it, man. I’m down, what do you want to know?”

  Cort paused for a moment as if unsure how to proceed. Then he asked, “Where are you from?”

  “Portland,” came Danny’s quick reply.

  “Where is that?” Cort asked.

  “In Oregon,” Danny replied confused at the question.

  “What did you do there? In Oregon,” Cort asked pronouncing the name of the unfamiliar state oddly.

  “I lived on the street man. I did whatever I needed to, well you know, to get by,” Danny replied.

  Cort glanced over at Father Callahan and then at Jerry obviously lost as to what to ask next.

  “When did you die?” Jerry asked.

  “Just a few days ago I guess, I don’t know man I don’t have a lot of use for dates and shit,” Danny replied.

  “What year was it?” Cort asked.

  “Like, 2017 I think,” came Danny’s reply.

  “Holy shit!” Jerry said aloud, “I’ve been dead for almost two years?”

  “Nobody cares Jerry,” Cort said offhandedly.

  “Yeah, let us know when you cross the century mark,” Jamie added with a sneer.

  The cavalryman grimaced and glanced around at the rest of the riders for a brief moment. Jerry could tell the man was out of his element and was quickly running out of questions. He was more at home directing an attack from horseback rather than playing twenty questions.

  “Give it to him,” Jerry said.

  “What?” Cort asked.

  “Give it to him. Give him the drug, just a little. I think it may actually help,” Jerry urged.

  “Yeah man, like I answered your questions. A deal is a deal,” Danny added.

  “Oh God help us. We aren’t really going to do this, are we?” the priest asked.

  In response, Cort held the syringe up and asked, “How does this work?”

  Jerry guided the needle into the vein in Danny’s arm with a slow and steady hand. From over his shoulder, the cavalryman watched him intently.

  “Does everyone in your time do this?” he asked.

  “No, not everyone,” Jerry replied watching as blood flashed into the syringe.

  “Then how do you know how to do it?”

  “My Grandmother needed to take insulin, and at the end, I was the only one left to take care of her,” Jerry said as he slowly depressed the plunger.

  “So, your Grandmother was a…Junkie?” Cort asked.

  Jerry just shook his head and then released the necktie tourniquet from Danny’s bicep. The teen tensed for a moment, his eyes rolling back in his head as a long slow breath escaped his lips. Danny leaned back so far that he would have tipped out of his chair if Jamie and Oliver hadn’t been holding him in between them.

  “Come on, come on, more man, more,” Danny whispered his eyes still held tightly shut.

  “You’ll get more when you answer more questions,” Jerry replied pulling the needle from the teen’s arm.

  “Ask man, just ask,” Danny pleaded.

  “How did you die?”

  “I got sick, I got bad sick,” Danny quickly replied.

  “Yeah, I bet,” Jamie mocked.

  “So you got sick. Were you in a hospital or at home?” Jerry continued.

  “No man, can’t go home. Can’t go home no more,” Danny replied shaking his head.

  “So, you were in a hospital then?” Jerry prompted.

  At first, Danny didn’t respond, his eyes just fluttered, and he leaned even farther back in the chair.

  “Danny stay with me. If you want more, then you need to answer the question.”

  “No hospital, I won’t go!” Came Danny’s reply.

  “Danny, Danny, where did you go? Where did you die?” Jerry pressed.

  “It was a church. I was laying on the floor of a church,” Danny blurted.

  Father Callahan’s head jerked upward at Danny’s words. The young priest snapped his Bible shut and moved to stand next to the restrained teen.

  “What kind of Church was it Danny?” the priest asked.

  “It was a church, churchman. You know like Catholic I guess,” Danny muttered.

  “Are you Catholic Danny?” the priest asked.

  “What does this have to do with anything?” Cort cut in.

  “Maybe nothing, maybe everything,” Father Callahan said.

  “Were you alone in the church Danny?” the priest asked.

  “No, there were others there too,” Danny admitted.

  “Who else was there?” the priest asked.

  “People, strangers, a priest I think. Then paramedics and even my parents at the end,” Danny said fidgeting now almost as if straining against the euphoria of the drugs still streaming through his veins.

  “Did you speak to the priest Danny? Did he say anything to you before you died?”

  Cort and the rest of the riders exchanged quick glances obviously as confused as to the direction of the priest’s questions as Jerry. Jerry just shrugged again in response as the priest pressed on.

  “Danny, this is very important, did the priest pray for you? Did he ask you anything as you were dying?”

  “He did, he did…” Danny replied nodding his head weakly.

  “And how did you respond?”

  Tears began to squeeze out of the teen’s clenched eyes. He fought to try and turn away, but Oliver and Jamie still held him firmly in place.

  “Danny, what did you say?” the priest demanded in a more forceful tone.

  “I said, I said I was sorry,” the teen whimpered.

  The priest took a step back as if in surprise his mouth slightly open. At that moment Danny began to kick and struggle with renewed vigor trying to escape the rider’s grasp. Caught off guard the teen surprised Oliver and Jamie, and his attempt nearly succeeded. Then the large Brit slid his free arm tightly under Danny’s chin.

  “I’ve had about enough of this,” Oliver said flexing his arm, and a few seconds later Danny’s body went slack.

  Jamie and Oliver let go of Danny, and he tumbled from the chair to land awkwardly on the saloon’s rough wooden floor. The riders stood around the body of the unconscious youth each lost in their own thoughts for a moment.

  “Well that was a colossal waste of fucking time,” Jamie declared.

  The gunslinger moved back to retake his place back at the poker table. A moment later Oliver shrugged and he and Shinji moved to join him.

  Cort looked at the priest and asked simply, “Was it?”

  “I don’t know, perhaps,” Father Callahan replied, but from the look in his eyes, Jerry could tell his mind was racing.

  “Whatever you're thinking Padre, I want to hear it,” Cort pressed.

  Father Callahan sat down heavily in his usual seat still gripping his Bible tightly. Cort and Jerry did the same each watching the young priest expectantly. The priest’s eyes danced back in forth as if he was trying desperately to remember something.

  “Well?” Cort prompted.

  Father Callahan let out a long breath and then looked up at them for the first time. When he did speak it was slow, and he chose his words carefully.

  “I think there is a chance that the priest that was there when Danny died. Well, he may have given the boy his Last Rites,” Father Callahan said solemnly.

  Cort and Jerry exchanged a quick glance, “And?” they asked nearly simultaneously.

  “In the Catholic faith, the Last Rites are intended for those who are close to death. It prepares the soul for judgment, forgiving them for all of their sins and their transgressions against God,” the priest explained.

  “All of their sins?” Jerry asked, and the priest nodded slowly in reply.

  “I seem to remember at some point growing up being told that some sins were considered unforgivable,” Cort pointed out.

  Father Callahan nodded slowly at the cava
lryman’s words.

  “Wouldn’t suicide be on that list?” Jerry asked.

  “It would be, yes,” the priest replied.

  “Now I’m assuming when Danny said rather vaguely that he got sick. That he wasn’t talking about catching a common cold,” Jerry pointed out.

  The priest nodded again, “I think that is a safe bet.”

  “I’m not following,” Cort said.

  “He’s an overdose, he injected himself with too much of that poison, and it killed him,” the priest said.

  Jerry’s eyes suddenly went wide as he realized what the priest was getting at.

  “So, did Danny overdose by accident? Or did he…” Jerry asked.

  “Commit suicide? I guess that is the real questions isn’t it?” Father Callahan replied.

  “So how does that work? When a person kills themselves but then has their sins forgiven before they actually die?” Jerry asked.

  “Honestly, I have no idea,” Father Callahan admitted.

  Jerry leaned back in his chair, “It’s a Catch 22 then.”

  “So, it would seem,” the priest admitted nodding his head.

  “What’s that?” Cort asked.

  “It’s something that should not be. In other words, it’s a paradox,”

  Cort leaned back in his chair slowly shaking his head and grumbled.

  “Well isn’t that just fucking great, another paradox. How come I doubt that this is all just a god damned coincidence?”

  To Dream

  The riders left Danny where he had collapsed on the floor of the saloon. He lay there still, now curled into a ball as if asleep. The drug-fueled interrogation had taken something out of the outlaws it seemed. It had left them with much more to think about than when they started. Cort and Jerry had started drinking again, the Cavalry leader, in particular, attacked the liquor with a vengeance. Slowing only occasionally to mutter something about “The fickle fucking nature of religions, sin, and paradoxes in a general sense.”

  Father Callahan stopped drinking entirely. Instead, the priest chose to throw himself into his newly restored Bible with a passion unmatched since his first day’s in the seminary. As Jamie and the rest of the riders returned to their cards and drink, the young priest retreated to the relative quiet of the saloon’s front porch.