by Chuck Buda
James screamed for him to stop shooting but he ignored the request. He stole a glance over his left shoulder as James hurried to the saloon. And his pal. He chuckled to himself that he predicted James’ reaction accurately. The gunslinger licked his rotted lips. He thought of finishing the boy off with a few more rounds plugged into the prone, lifeless body. Then he thought better of it.
The gunslinger wanted to take it up a notch. An abundance of death would certainly reinforce his point for revenge. These people brought it upon themselves. Maybe not the specific souls he dispatched to the afterlife. But it was a small enough town. The deceased were probably related on some level to those who wronged him in the past. They had taken so much from him. And now he was getting something back.
His spurs jangled as he strode to the saloon doors. The gunslinger parted them with the barrels of the six shooters. Then he opened fire on the mob of people stacked deep. Some folks knelt over the dead and dying, oblivious of his arrival. They would get a pass, he reasoned.
The bullets quickly ran out. He kept pulling the triggers as the cylinders revolved with empty clicks. He had enjoyed himself so much that he hadn’t realized he needed to reload. The gunslinger re-holstered his guns and snatched six shooters from dead bodies at his feet. He picked right up where he left off.
Lead smacked into bone with a slapping sound. Some bullets ran through several torsos before coming to rest in a bloated liver or charred lung. Ripping sounds echoed off the wooden floors as flesh scissored open to expose muscle and sinew. The gunslinger loved the sounds which drowned out the hysterical cries and terrified shrieks. Men became women and women became children as the living clawed their way over each other for safety.
The gunslinger leaned down to the bloody face of a crying woman. He laughed hard, inches from her wide eyes. The smell of blood and other fluids filled his nostrils. He stopped laughing momentarily to breathe in the sweet scent of death. Then he stood and continued to laugh.
The room was full of chaos. Bloody bodies littered the floor. A writhing pile of injured stacked waist high in the middle of the bar. The gunslinger knew that these people had been trampled by the spineless rodents that scrambled for safety. Another lump of people cluttered the back door’s port. They were the unlucky ones who were stuffed into the walls as folks fought their way out the back door. Bedlam in every direction. The gunslinger was satisfied with his destruction. He dropped the guns upon the bloody floor and turned to leave the saloon through the swinging doors. He didn’t bother to avoid the bodies, choosing to step on whatever lie before him.
As the gunslinger stepped onto the porch, the noises coming from his right grabbed his attention. James was kneeling with the boy’s head cradled in his lap. He cried profusely and begged God to save the poor kid. The gunslinger snickered to himself. Good luck, James. There is no God. Trust me.
His eyes followed the woman’s hands as she tried to stop the bleeding hole in the boy’s chest. He knew as big as the hole looked on the front, it would be even bigger on the kid’s back. Blood soaked the floor boards and he thought to himself that little people sure held a lot of blood inside.
The woman looked up at his vacant eyes. Her long black hair looked crazy as it came apart from the bun on the top. Her crystal-blue eyes were red, and full of tears. She breathed heavily and her stare told him how much hatred she had for the gunslinger. He didn’t mind. He didn’t come to this town to win friends and settle down. He came here to finish old business. To collect on debts owed.
To fulfill a legacy of revenge.
James’ tearful eyes raised to meet the cold blackness of his own. The gunslinger tipped his brim at James.
“Don’t worry, James. I’ll be back for you.” He grinned wide and chuckled. “I haven’t forgotten the fact that you called me a coward.”
James stared at him as he strolled into the middle of the street. The gunslinger stopped and stared up at the clock tower. Then he faced James again.
“No need to wait for the noon hour anymore. I’m ready whenever you are…kid.”
The gunslinger faded into the sunlight, disappearing into the ether.
Chapter 31
A makeshift hospital was set up under the eaves of the saloon. Some people were so injured that Sheriff Morgan implored Doc Stinson to go along with his decision. His argument was to get folks immediate medical attention without having to move the injured clear across town. Besides, the Doctor didn’t have that much room in his quaint, formal hospital.
Doc Stinson and his two nurses attended to the wounded. Ambulatory patients sat on the porch boards or stacks of grain bags. The more severe patients were laid out on cots that practically touched each other. There were that many and the goal was to keep them in the shade of the eaves.
Sheriff Morgan watched the undertaker. He squatted down with a tape measure, measuring the size of the dead. Every few seconds he called out the numbers while his assistant scratched out the measurements on a small chalkboard. Bereaved family members stood nearby, crying and consoling each other in the midst of the business-like preparation of the undertaker. The Sheriff shook his head with disgust.
He glanced at James and Sarah who held hands next to Carson. The little boy was placed on a cot since his injuries were pretty bad. James moved the cot off to the corner of the saloon, which was in the shade of the building but not under the eaves. Sheriff Morgan approached them with reverence. He couldn’t believe that Carson had been one of the casualties.
The Sheriff had scrambled down from the roof of the general store when the gunslinger shot things up. He hadn’t bothered to shoot the specter for two reasons. First, his instinct pulled him to the aid of the townspeople who were injured. Second, he never really believed his shot would harm the ghost. He’d seen it with his own eyes when the Mayor died. He spotted James from the roof more for moral support and to save James from suffering. He knew it was morbid, but the Sheriff knew the truth of the west. And it wasn’t pretty at times.
“James. Sarah. How is he doing?” The Sheriff removed his hat to greet them.
James looked up with swollen eyes. Streaks of tears lined his cheeks but he wasn’t crying at the moment.
“Doc says he’s stable. For now.”
Sheriff Morgan nodded. “Pretty lucky little fella, I’d say.”
“Yeah. At least the bullet missed his lung. But Doc thinks he’ll be bandaged up for a while. Not much use of his arm or shoulder.”
“Could be worse.”
James nodded and looked down at Carson. Sarah dabbed the boy’s forehead with a damp rag. She seemed to be whispering prayers as she tended to the boy. Sarah didn’t look up at the Sheriff. All her attention was on Carson. The Sheriff nodded his head to request James step aside for a chat. James patted Sarah’s shoulder and then followed the Sheriff to the other side of the alley.
“Plan didn’t work too well.”
James looked down.
“We can’t allow this to happen again. We have to do something.”
“I know.”
“What should we do next?”
“I don’t know.” James took his hat off and scratched his messy hair. “But we can’t do anything here. Too many people around. It’s gotten too dangerous.”
“Agreed.”
James put his hat back on his head. “I don’t understand what his beef is. Why does he keep coming back for revenge? Who is he? What happened?” He showed his frustration by waving his hands around with each question.
Sheriff Morgan bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t hide the truth anymore. “James, every town has its history. A story, if you will.”
James stared at the Sheriff.
“Sometimes these stories are happy. Other times, they ain’t.”
“What are you trying to say, Sheriff?”
The Sheriff looked at the clock tower and then back at James. “This town has some ghosts.”
“I know. We just saw what it did to Carson. And those people.” James
pointed at the row of bodies.
“Not those kinds of ghosts. The kind that linger in our hearts. Our souls.”
“Sheriff, what the hell are you driving at?”
“I know who the gunslinger is. And I know why he is here.”
“You know?” James appeared agitated. His face contorted with anger.
“We all know. This town knows. I guess it’s time that you know too.”
James shoved the Sheriff in the chest. Hard. Sheriff Morgan grabbed James by the shirt and cocked his fist as if to strike. But he got himself quickly under control. “Don’t touch me, James. Don’t…ever…touch me like that.”
“You knew? And you didn’t think to fill me in? Why?”
“This town…these people, swore to each other the ghosts of the past would remain buried. Unspoken.”
“I’ll tell you what is going to be buried, Sheriff.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why should I? If everyone knows what’s going on then there is no need to keep it quiet, right?”
“It’s not a matter of keeping things quiet, James. It’s a matter of letting these people tend to their wounds peacefully.”
“What about our wounds? Carson’s wounds?”
The Sheriff exhaled with his hands out before him. “Look, you have every reason to be upset. But screaming at each other isn’t going to solve anything. We need to work together to rid this problem.”
“I thought we WERE working together. But I made a mistake. I thought you were trying to help me but you weren’t. You were just using me.”
James stormed back to Carson’s side. He sat down and rubbed Sarah’s shoulders as she tended to the little boy.
Sheriff Morgan rubbed his graying beard. He knew he was wrong for hiding the truth from James. He should have been honest from the beginning. He had hoped that they could solve the problem without digging up the old bones of the past. The secrets of the past were still too fresh. Too sensitive. The Sheriff hated himself for his involvement in the mystery.
He’d have to let James cool off and then maybe he could talk to him later. For now, he would have to see about getting the dead off the streets and repairing the damage to the town. The psychic damage more than the material.
Chapter 32
It had been a long day. Longer than James cared for. He failed to defeat the gunslinger. Carson got hurt. People died. The town was in mourning. And everyone lied to James. Even Sheriff Morgan.
He kicked off his boots and massaged his sore feet. His stomach growled with hunger. Breakfast was the last meal he had eaten. If he weren’t so exhausted, he would bother to feed himself. James wondered when his mother would come home. She chose to stay with Carson a while longer.
James reclined on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His body felt like it was melting into the threadbare mattress. Tonight, the old bedding seemed like a fluffy, thick cloud.
His mind replayed the day’s events. He tried to figure out what he could have done differently. No matter how he sized it up, the one piece he couldn’t control was Carson. The only thing he could have done better was to beat the gunslinger quicker. Then maybe Carson wouldn’t have found time to get in the way. Of course, he thought, if the mirror had worked then everything else wouldn’t have mattered.
He rubbed his eyes. Visions of Carson plagued him. It all happened so fast, but in his head the scene progressed slowly so every minute detail became vivid. James tried to speed along the parts where blood spurted from Carson. It didn’t work though. He felt like crying but he was too tired for tears too.
James thought how his bad decisions would haunt him more than any ghost could. He now had to face the townspeople with his failures and mistakes. Worse, how could he ever get Carson to trust him again? He lied to Carson and left him behind. Multiple times now. And to top it off, Carson got shot. Not once, but twice. How much bad luck can one little boy take? James sighed.
A knock at the door shook James from his thoughts. He was glad for the distraction since time alone meant time to live with his demons. His body didn’t exactly cooperate with him though. It seemed content to stay put. He willed himself to shuffle to the door as the knocks became louder and more frequent.
James opened the door. He stared at the visitor with a surprised expression.
“Hello, James.”
“Eleanor.”
“I’m sorry to stop by this late and unannounced. May I speak with you?”
James’ initial reaction was delight. It quickly soured as he remembered the Sheriff’s admission that the whole town was in on the story. He grimaced and waved his hand to invite her in. Eleanor smiled and brushed past James. He got a dizzying whiff of her fragrance as she went by.
Eleanor looked around for a place to sit. James didn’t want her to stay long so he didn’t offer her a seat. “What do you want?”
“I heard about today. I chose to leave town for safety’s sake. Everyone is talking about it. I’m sorry things didn’t go the way you wanted.”
“It might have gone better if I had known the truth.”
Eleanor tilted her head. “Truth? What truth?”
“Don’t play games with me. I know there is some kind of secret around here about the gunslinger.”
James noticed the shock on her face. He got angrier that she was going to keep up the ruse.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You can stop pretending now. You’re only making me madder and I don’t like being lied to.” He took a few steps toward her with his hands clenched.
“James, I am not lying to you. I really have no idea what you are talking about.” She had her hand on her chest as if she were offended by his claims.
He tried to size her up. Could she be telling the truth, he wondered? Before he could figure it out, Eleanor continued.
“How is Carson?”
“Doc Stinson says he’ll live. The bullet passed through without hitting any organs. But he lost a lot of blood. So…”
“Poor thing. I hope he has a speedy recovery.”
“Me too.”
An awkward silence filled the air as they both looked around the room for relief.
“Well, I guess I should be going then.” Eleanor walked to the door. James didn’t follow her. Instead, he asked a question with his back still to her.
“Why did you REALLY come here tonight?” He turned toward her.
Eleanor still faced the door with her hand on the knob. James thought she was frozen in place because she wasn’t moving and she paused for several moments before answering.
“I…wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Then I guess you got what you came for.”
She nodded and reached for the door.
“Eleanor.”
She turned to face James. He thought her eyes were watered but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.
“You really know nothing about the gunslinger?”
“No.”
“Cause Sheriff Morgan told me that everyone in town has known the secret for years.”
“Secret? What secret?”
“I don’t know. Yet. But I’m fixin’ to find out.”
Eleanor looked at her hands. “I only came to town ten months ago.”
James was shocked. If she came to town that recently then she wasn’t even here the last time the gunslinger showed up. He felt foolish now for treating Eleanor so poorly. But how could he fix it, he wondered. James just nodded.
“Well, goodnight.” Eleanor reached for the door again.
“Goodnight.” James stayed in place.
As Eleanor opened the door to leave, Sarah was about to come in.
“Oh. Ms. Johnson. Good evening.” Eleanor stammered with surprise.
Sarah appeared just as surprised. She rested her hands on her hips.
“Miss Lark.” She stepped across the threshold and stood nose to nose with Eleanor. “What are you doing here? At night? With James?” Her eyes darted fr
om Eleanor to James and back.
“She was just leaving, Mother.”
Sarah brushed past Eleanor to approach James. “That doesn’t answer my question. Does it?”
James looked down at his feet with embarrassment. Did she really think that they were up to no good in light of the day’s events? He showed his frustration. “She just stopped by to make sure I was alright.”
“Isn’t that thoughtful?” Sarah’s tone was very sarcastic. She spun around, shoved Eleanor through the door and slammed it shut behind her.
Chapter 33
“I want the truth, right now.” James slammed the door and stomped over to the desk. Sheriff Morgan looked up at him under the brim of his hat.
“Good morning, James. Why don’t you come in?” The Sheriff was sarcastic.
“If I’m gonna beat this ghost then I need to know what happened. All of it.” James slammed his fist on the desk. He tried to hide how much the hard wood hurt his hand.
“Sit down, James.” The Sheriff removed his hat and settled back in his chair. “I owe you. You’re right.”
The admission took some of the fire out of James’ hostility. He sat in the hard chair before the large desk. James was still wary about whether the Sheriff would truly come clean.
The Sheriff lit a cigarette. He offered James one but James shook it off. He had never smoked before and he wasn’t about to start now. James always hated the smell as it choked his lungs.
“Several years back, this town went through some…growing pains.” He blew smoke toward the ceiling. “The Mayor and some friends of his took things a bit too far.”
James shifted in the chair. “How so?”
“Well, let’s start by acknowledging what the Mayor did to build this great town. In the beginning, folks just showed up and staked claims to land. Started building what they wanted, wherever they wanted. It got pretty crazy.” He took another drag of the cigarette, held the smoke and then exhaled the plumes through his nostrils.
