by Chuck Buda
No wonder she had been so angry with him. All that time she probably thought he wasn’t interested in settling down with her. Maybe she thought he didn’t feel the same about her as she felt about him. He had been so focused on working and trying to build a future. Yet, he hadn’t lived in the present.
James slouched down against the table. He rested his face in the raw meat and allowed his tears to soak into it. His body convulsed as he finally let the emotions take hold of him. Bottling up his pain and hiding it sapped him of energy and left him feeling hollow. The toll it took on his body began to take effect in his shaking legs and hands. All James wanted was to see Eleanor one more time. To tell her he loved her. And apologize for not spending quality time with her. It was too late now.
He pulled himself up and untied the apron. Tossing it over the bin of ground beef, James made his way for the door. He stopped before moving into the front room so he could wipe his eyes and sniff up his runny nose. He wanted to walk out as a man.
James opened the door and nearly bumped into Gunderson. The large man grasped James’ shoulders. Without a word, he smashed James into his large, smelly chest. He squeezed James tight. James struggled not to vomit from the personal hygiene, or lack thereof. But he settled into the embrace. It was warm and felt good. And James needed it now.
Gunderson let go of James. He slapped him on the shoulder and winked. James wanted to thank Gunderson for being so understanding but he almost lost control of his emotions. He just tucked his chin into his chest and crossed the floor to leave the Trading Post. As James left the shop, he heard Gunderson sigh behind him. Gunderson had been so good to James. And Carson. He silently cursed God for creating evil people in this world when it was always the good ones, like Eleanor or Gunderson, who ended up getting hurt. It didn’t make any sense to him. He hated how cruel life was.
James scuffed the dirt with his boots as he crosses the street on his way back to the church. He thought about good people and how they needed to take care of each other. And rid the world of the evil ones.
James felt fire burn in his veins when his thoughts turned to one evil person. One he needed to take care of.
Chapter 37
Preacher swept the floor of the chapel. He had worked about a little sweat, preparing for the memorial service. Luckily, Sarah and Carson helped him with the chores. Everyone worked in silence as they mourned and reflected on Eleanor’s life. Preacher quietly planned ahead.
He brilliantly offered to hold a memorial service for Eleanor tonight in the chapel. It shortened his timeline for absorbing their souls. And it was sure to garner more people in the pews than a regular service. Preacher was lucky if he attracted handful of townspeople for Sunday services. But the tragic passing of a young, beautiful woman was sure to fill the chapel to capacity. Why not take fifty souls rather than five?
Preacher mulled over the tactics for James. He would be the wild card. Everyone else in town seemed to believe in his innocence related to Eleanor’s death. Not James. James suspected him. So conquering the young man was going to be a challenge. He needed to come up with something special. Just for James.
Preacher glanced at Carson who busily polished the wood surfaces with an oiled rag. Sarah arranged flowers in pots upon the altar and along the center aisle of the chapel. He watched her tuck a sweaty curl of hair behind her ear. Sarah was lovely and pleasing to the eye. Preacher reminded himself how delicious she had been when he had taken her. Sarah was an older woman but she was extremely attractive and desirable. He lamented how he wouldn’t get another chance to be with her before he killed her.
The door to the chapel opened and Preached looked up. He expected to find someone inquiring about the memorial service. Instead, he found James.
James seethed through his nostrils. His eyes looked wild. Angry. Preacher saw his clenched fists. He gripped the broom handle in preparation of the confrontation.
James rushed across the chapel. He dove through the air, connecting with Preacher’s chest. They both crashed backwards into the last pew on the left side of the chapel. The pew tipped over, spilling them over to the floor.
“You killed her!” James screamed and threw a punch. It smashed Preacher’s eye. The pain blossomed instantaneously across his temple.
Preacher tried to work his way out James’ grasp. But he was surprised by the strength of James’ muscles. He looked like a slim, young man. Preacher quickly learned there was lean muscle within the wiry frame. James punched Preacher’s jaw, loosening one of his lower teeth. His lip swelled and he tucked his head into James’ chest to protect himself against another strike.
Somewhere in the distance, Preacher heard Sarah shouting at them to stop fighting. The sound of her steps echoing on the wood floor, drawing nearer to them. Preacher turned his head against James’ chest and spied Carson. The little boy watched the battle with little emotion.
Preacher kneed James in the crotch. The blow caused James to shift backwards, affording him an opportunity to escape. He jumped to his feet and propped his fists up.
“Is this what you wanted, James? You wish to fight a man with the Lord on his side?” Preacher swung his fist and connected with James’ face. James flung into the wall, clutching his face.
“Perhaps you can be with her again in the afterlife.” He kicked James in the stomach. James doubled over, gasping for air. Preacher punched James in the side of his head as he crumpled to the floor.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Sarah tried to hold onto Preacher’s shoulders as he prepared to strike again. He tossed Sarah aside as if she were a limp rag. He felt the Dark One brimming in his veins. The heat, the fire surged to his extremities. The darkness flooding his body felt like a warm blanket. Comforting and welcome.
Preacher climbed on top of James and straddled his chest. He punched James in the mouth. Then the nose. Blood sprayed up at his face. “Maybe I should add your blood to my collection, boy.” He backhanded James.
Carson jumped on Preacher’s back. His little arms wrapped around his neck, choking him. Preacher stood up as Carson dangled in the air behind him. He thrust his body backwards into the wall, crushing the little boy. Immediately, the little arms let go and Carson slumped to the floor in a daze.
Preached panted and glared at the destruction. Sarah lie on the floor, crying. Her eyes pleaded with him for mercy. Carson stared blankly across the chapel. And James bled profusely on the floor. His beaten eyes staring up at Preacher.
The burning in his veins was painful. The itching beneath his skin rippled from his belly around to his back, and then across his limbs.
Take them, Preacher. Take them now.
The Dark One spoke within his head. He fought himself against giving in to the beast. He screamed inside to be patient and wait for the bigger prize. The crowd tonight at the memorial service. The Dark One relented, reluctantly.
The chapel door swung open. Marshal Holder filled the door frame, barely allowing daylight to pass through.
“What’s going on in here?” His voice thundered with authority.
James turned to face the Marshal. With blood running down his face, he dragged himself to his feet. “Nothing, Marshal. Just a small disagreement.” James dabbed at his bloody face with the back of his shirt sleeve.
The Marshal searched each face and took in the tipped over pew. “Doesn’t look like nothing.” His mustache frowned at them.
“Like James said, we just had a small argument over the best way to set up for the service tonight.” Preacher smiled at Marshal. He hoped the lawman would leave. If he were to run them into jail then all hope for tonight’s victory would be lost.
The Marshal glanced over his shoulder. “Folks complaining about all the noise in here. Said people was dying.” He scratched his stubble.
James limped to the door. “Sorry, Marshal. It won’t happen again.” James grasped the door like he was going to close it. The Marshal stared into his eyes for a prolonged moment. Then he nodded and quietly left the cha
pel. James closed the door. He faced Preacher. Both men glared at each other.
Preacher didn’t want to lose his opportunity. He figured he better make amends quickly to ensure the prize later. “I’m...sorry, James. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.” He looked at Sarah. Then Carson. “I’m so sorry. The devil must have gotten in me for a moment.” He hung his head to show he was ashamed.
Sarah came toward him. “I forgive you, Preacher. We’re all upset today.” She hugged him tightly. He watched James over Sarah’s shoulder. James looked angry again. Preacher felt relieved he still had Sarah on his side. James would always be a lost cause.
He fought the smirk that tried to spread across his mouth.
Chapter 38
The Marshal swung the chapel door open. He wasn’t surprised by what he found inside. Somebody complained to him about a ruckus going on in the church. When he approached the building, he heard the fight loud and clear from the street.
“What’s going on in here?” Marshal Holder bellowed in his best authoritative tone.
His eyes scanned the room. It was in complete disarray. James was sprawled upon the floor. His face was bleeding from his nose and mouth. One eye had swollen up. Sarah sat in the center aisle. She appeared unscathed but she was crying and trembling. Carson sat along the wall off to the left. His eyes were open. He never turned his face toward the Marshal.
And there was Preacher.
The holy man was hunched over, ready for battle. His fists up in the air. The Marshal noticed some blood on his face as well. A nice gash lined Preacher’s left eyebrow, traveling an inch down his cheek.
James turned to face the Marshal. He dragged himself to his feet. “Nothing, Marshal. Just a small disagreement.” James dabbed at his bloody face with the back of his shirt sleeve. The Marshal kept one eye on James, the other on Preacher. It was a skill he had mastered after years of breaking up brawls. He learned long ago to keep both combatants in focus to avoid cheap shots.
The Marshal searched each face and took in the tipped over pew. “Doesn’t look like nothing.” He wanted to shake both men up. After the long night and all the visits to the church lately, the Marshal had lost patience with both men.
“Like James said, we just had a small argument over the best way to set up for the service tonight.” Preacher smiled at Marshal. He didn’t trust the expression. He was beginning to believe there was indeed more to the story with the redheaded Preacher. There had been rumors since he came to town. But the last few days had left a bad taste in his mouth. And the common factor in all the problems was Preacher. The Marshal reminded himself again, where there’s smoke...
The Marshal glanced over his shoulder. “Folks complaining about all the noise in here. Said people was dying.” He scratched his stubble. Carson finally looked his way. The boy’s eyes were distant, stunned almost. Marshal squinted to focus on the boy’s face. If he found a drop of blood or one bruise on the kid’s face then he was going to haul someone to jail. And he might even abuse the person on the way.
James limped his way. “Sorry, Marshal. It won’t happen again.” James grasped the door like he was going to close it. The Marshal stared into his eyes for a prolonged moment. He waited for a sign from James to step in and save him. The Marshal almost willed James to blink or twitch. Anything to provide him with reason.
Then Marshal nodded and quietly left the chapel. James closed the door behind him. He stood on the porch. Waiting for more fighting sounds. A small throng of onlookers huddled in the street, watching for action. The Marshal reached into his coat and removed a fresh cigar. He licked the end until it was wet with his spit.
He tipped his hat at the crowd in front of him. They appeared nervous and split up. He watched them leave as he struck a match and lit the cigar. Straining his ears, the Marshal didn’t pick up any further disturbances from the chapel.
He waited anyway.
The smoke carried out of the corner of his lips. The taste filling his mouth helped settle his nerves. On the outside, the Marshal always appeared calm and in control. On the inside, he was ready for a fight. Almost all the time. The aggression came with the job. Although, he would be lying to himself if he wasn’t that way since he was a child. It was more like the job was the perfect fit for his disposition.
The Marshal spat in the dirt. He felt something in his gut which told him things weren’t over as far as the Preacher and James was concerned. He’d witnessed enough fights to know when the job ain’t done. Both men’s eyes told him this was just the start. The Marshal made a note to spend much more time down this end of town. And he would need to keep an eye on them.
Especially Preacher.
With the memorial service coming for Miss Lark, the Marshal figured whatever was bound to erupt between James and Preacher would happen sooner rather than later. He wondered if they could contain their mutual resentment long enough to get through the ceremony. We’ll see about that, he thought.
The Marshal finally gave up on sticking around. If the fight were to continue, he would have heard it by now. The men were just licking their wounds. Lying low until the right moment to re-engage. He smiled to himself. Good fights were always enjoyable.
His hopes were on the side of James. He liked the young man, even though he had been nothing but trouble since getting to Dodge. The kid had something about him. A character. An inner strength. The Marshal couldn’t put a finger on it but he knew it wasn’t a bad inkling.
Preacher was different. The Marshal had never really cared one way or another for the strange redheaded man. The rumors didn’t affect his opinion. But too much had happened lately. And he picked up a feeling...a vibe around the holy man. It was a feeling he couldn’t describe. It almost scared the Marshal. And Marshal wasn’t scared of any man.
Preacher was odd. Cold. His words seemed to contradict his posture.
The eyes.
Marshal Holder was good at judging men by the look in their eyes. Preacher’s eyes were dark, unrevealing. Like small closet in the night time. No light. Only darkness.
He walked back to his office. The Marshal wanted to prepare his six shooter for tonight’s service. He thought he might bring the rifle too. Something in his belly told him there wouldn’t be enough fire power or bullets to tame what was headed this way.
Chapter 39
Preacher had left the chapel cleanup to James and Carson. He decided to remove himself from the situation before it got any worse. The most important goal was to fill the chapel for the memorial service tonight. And then feed on all the unsuspecting souls.
He cleaned up his face in the bedroom. The gash on the side of his eye kept bleeding. The wound required stitches but he didn’t have time to waste. Besides, he wasn’t sure who he could trust to pierce his face with needle and thread. He squeezed the flaps of skin together and cauterized the wound with candle wax. The flame scalded the cut. The wax barely held it together. When he raised his eyebrows, the wax would crack apart and the cut would bleed anew. He had to make sure he kept changes in facial expressions to a minimum.
Preacher left his room. Glancing at the open door to the ministry, he spotted Sarah through the back door. She was washing some clothes. He made his way to her side. Fixing the disaster he caused earlier would be paramount to pulling off tonight’s feat.
“How are you doing?” He asked Sarah as she scrubbed blood from James’ shirt. Sarah looked over her shoulder and offered a forced smile.
“Fine.”
The response was terse. He had to bring Sarah around. She would play a pivotal role in the service.
“I’m very sorry about the fight. I don’t know what got into me. When James attacked me, I just...” He let the thought linger to pretend he was distraught.
Sarah put the wash down. She stood and faced Preacher. “Watching you hurt James was horrible.”
Preacher folded his hands in front of his belt and lowered his head.
“Hurting my son is the same as hurting me.”
“I understand.” He gave her his best sorrowful look.
“And Carson got hurt. He’s just a little boy.” Sarah stepped closer to Preacher. He felt her anguish as waves of pain transferred from her nearness.
“Sarah, I am the one who was hurt most by my actions.” He placed his hand over his heart. “Hurting all of you...it’s the last thing I would ever want. I took you all into my church because I cared for you. Still do.” He bowed his head once more. Preacher heard her sigh. He hoped he was getting through to her.
Sarah gently touched his arm. “I believe you. It’s just...Things have been so crazy lately. I wanted us to all be together. I don’t know if that is possible now.”
“Let’s just get through tonight. Emotions are running high with the sudden loss of our dear, Eleanor. We are all upset by her passing. I’m confident we will come together once we put this mourning behind us.” He caressed her cheeks. Sarah smiled more naturally. Her eyes showed her forgiveness.
“I wish we could go back to that moment we had.” He noticed Sarah’s blush. “I know it was wrong. But it was so right, too.” Preacher leaned his head closer as if he wanted to kiss her once more. Sarah leaned in. Preacher let go of her face and turned away.
“I’m sorry. I am such a weak man. I pray the Lord gives me strength to do the right thing.” He took a deep breath and stared up at the heaven’s. He felt Sarah step closer. It was difficult to hide his pleasure at how easy she was to manipulate. Since she was behind him, he gave in to the grin which filled his face.
“You are a strong man, Preacher. I have faith in you.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.
