Animal (part 9)

John slowly approaches Haven. A tall sign rocks with the wind as he passes under it. The town is not unlike the others; half empty and quiet. No church resides over the town. The largest building is the tavern which lies half hidden in the corner. John dismounts his horse and slowly heads towards the tavern, the rein in one hand, guiding the animal alongside him. He holds his bloodstained shoulder tightly. The bleeding has stopped. Every now and then a small drop of blood falls to the sand but the wound is not serious. John continues on. He ropes the animal to the hitching post and lets it drink from the water trough outside. He makes his way up the steps and into the tavern.

More people crowd the building than he would have thought. Four men sit and play poker, eying each other quietly, flicking chips into the pot. They set their cards down and watch him. John tips his hat. They shrug and turn back to their game. A young woman about John’s age sits at a table, counting her money, quickly shifting through the small bills. She sighs and returns the money to her purse, glancing up at John.

Her eyes are a shade of ice blue, her blonde hair trickles across her shoulders. Her face is powdered but John imagines she looks just as majestic underneath. Her red lips are full and shiny. She stares up at him. She’s beautiful. She’s dressed in a burlesque outfit, her legs covered by violet stockings. A deep violet corset is tied around her waist.

“You need company, mister?”

Her voice is sensual and strong but it masks a nervous fear. She holds herself with pride. John shakes his head.

“No, miss.”

He turns and heads to the bar, passing two red haired men, one burly and the other lanky, who drink from their mugs, sharing jokes and roaring with laughter. The bartender watches him approach, pouring a small amount of whiskey for the sulking elderly man in front of the bar. The bartender is dressed in a clean white shirt and work pants. His sandy blonde hair hangs over his eyes.

John takes a seat in front of the bartender. The drunk beside him glances up and stares at him for a while. His hair is dirty and gray and he smells but his eyes are focused and determined. His body sags with age, his back twisted and old. He finally looks away, reaching for his whiskey and drinking the clear liquid slowly.

“Can I help you?” the bartender asks.
“I need to speak with the innkeeper.”
“You’re looking at him.”
“You’re both?”
“Yep. Not much help around here. People seem to spend money far more often than earn it.”

John chuckles.

“I need a room.”
“You have cash?”
“Of course.”
“Then you get a room.”

The bartender opens a cupboard. A small collection of keys hangs from a nail buried in the wood. The bartender removes a key and closes the cupboard. He turns and hands John his key. John reaches to take it. The bartender’s body tenses. He doesn’t release the keys. He stares at the dried blood on John’s arm, his eyes traveling down to the revolvers at his side.

“You in some kind of trouble, boy?” he asks.
“My name’s John. You can call me that, or mister, or sir, but do not call me boy.”
“You in some kind of trouble, mister?”
“Nothing serious.”
“Depends what your definition of serious is. See we don’t get much trouble in this town, the occasional bar fight but not much else. So I’ll ask you again, are you trouble?”

John pulls the keys from the bartender’s hand.

“Not me. But the man who’s after me is.”
“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“If I leave he’ll burn this town. He’s coming. He’s a rider. Not one of the old breeds either.”

The bartender’s eyes open wide. The color drains from his face.

“A rider’s after you?” He asks.
“And I’m after another.”
“What makes you think you’ll stand a chance?”

John draws one of his revolvers slowly and sets it on the table. The drunk beside him sits straight, his eyes locked upon the silver weapon.

“You see this gun? It belonged to an old rider. He trained me. I’m the best man for this.”
“You’re young.”
“I know. But so were the first riders, and they ruled this land. I am the last of them, and I will fight.”
“Who hunts you?” the bartender asks.
“He is a blind rider. A man with scarred eyes and black hair.”

The drunk coughs.

“Price?” he sputters.
“You know him?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. He lived here.”

John shakes his head.

“What?” he asks
“When he was a boy...I was the bartender of this tavern.”
“He lived here?”

The old drunk nods.

“Yes. I worked here serving drinks for many years. This is my son,” he whispers, pointing to the bartender.

The bartender shrugs and pats his father’s arm.

“His mother worked here as a whore. We were supposed to call them working girls but she was nothing like that. Nothing like the girl we have now. She had a young boy, a beautiful lad. I felt sorry for him. His mother brought the worst kind of filth back here. They hurt and beat both her and her son. But she did nothing. One day, a drunk cut the kid up, cut him up real bad. I pulled him away from the boy. Cost me a piece of my ear to do it.”

The drunk turns his head. A large chunk from the top of his right ear is missing.

“I thought that was the end of it. The boy was blind. His eyes were slashed open. No where else on his body was he harmed. I cared for him till the bleeding stopped. That night the boy snuck out of the tavern and found the man. Slit his throat from ear to ear. Never knew how he did it, no one could prove anything but I knew he’d done the job. And I didn’t care either. The bastard deserved it. Prince stayed until he was thirteen. Then one day he just left. No note or anything. He just disappeared. Left his mother alone. She died later that year of pneumonia.”

The drunk finishes and downs the rest of the whiskey.

“And he’s coming?” the drunk asks.

John nods.

“Then God help us.”
“God won’t need to. I’ll kill him myself,” John says.
“When will he be here?” the bartender asks.
“Tomorrow. Sunset. I’ll fight him then.”

The drunk reaches out and takes hold of John’s arm.

“You need help,” he whispers.
“No. I must face him alone.”

John turns to the bartender and lays a bill upon the table.

“That should cover it.”
“You want some company?” the bartender asks, nodding in the direction of the girl.
“No.”
“Very well. Nice meeting you, John. I’m Billy. My father’s name is Jed.”
“Thank you,” John replies, turning away from the bar and standing.

John approaches and mounts the stairs. He’s halfway to the second floor when the Jed calls after him, his voice half slurred from whiskey.

“Be careful. Prince ain’t a normal man.”

John smiles and replies without turning.

“Neither am I.”

John continues to climb the stairs. He glances down as he reaches the second floor. The woman in violet stares up at him, watching him as he watches her. John raises his hand and turns, entering his room.

***

Prince sits upon his horse, listening to the bustle of the town ahead. He dismounts and sits in the dirt.

“Is it fate? Is it destiny that I return to very place I was born, possibly to die there? Coincidence is for the haughty and the naive. This was your plan all along. Do you watch? Is my filthy whore mother there with you, watching and laughing and joking, delighting in my pain? Is she!?”

Prince lies back, staring into the sky, seeing only darkness.

“You dare to torment me so. You laugh. I am not a fly upon the wall. I am no mere insect. I am death. I am the bringer of destruction and chaos. And you, my father, shall not stop me. You shall not beat me. For as long as I have fists I will beat you, as long as I have teeth I will fight you, as long as I have legs I will kick you. For as long as I live you will hold nothing over me. For now is my time. And I shall embrace it.”

Prince smiles and laughs, his haunted voice cackling through the fields.

***

The room is cozy. Small but civilized. John sits upon the bed. Outside the afternoon sun roars high. He removes his boots and shuts the curtains, dimming the sunlight. He shakes his head. He removes a poorly rolled cigarette from his back pocket and lights it, coughing. He breathes out, letting the thick smoke filter through the cracked window. John sighs and stubs the cigarette out on his tongue, mimicking a trick his father taught him and tosses it across the room. It lands in a small bin.

John stands and removes a small bottle of whiskey from his bag. He enters the bathroom. John stares into the mirror and removes his shirt. His tanned chest contrasts with his sunburned neck and shoulders. John pops the cap off the whiskey and pours the contents across the gash. He grunts from the pain while his arm shakes. The last of the whiskey drips out and John gasps, wiping his face. He lays a new sheet of cloth around his arm and ties it.

John stares into the mirror for a moment before turning away and exiting the bathroom.

John approaches the bed and lies back, watching the ceiling. No sounds come from the floor below. He rubs his sore shoulders slowly. The pain lessens. He turns on his good side and closes his eyes, letting himself fall into slumber, the one place he hopes he is safe.

***

The fields are burning. John stands alone in the middle of a burning cornfield. Screams of unknown people echo into the night. A child lies alone in the field, his body limp. A bullet hole rests in the middle of his forehead, the back of his skull spewed across the earth. John grimaces and turns away. From the cornrows emerges the tall man, mounted atop his black horse. He smiles.

“Hello John.”
“You-”
“Getting acquainted with another member of the deceased? Well seeing as how you’re a dead man walking I’d see how you’d make quick friends.”
“You bastard.”

The tall man laughs.

“Even now death affects you. Open your eyes. You have seen the full power of death for such a short time. Try living with it. Trying seeing hundreds die right before your eyes. Try waking every morning knowing you will murder a child. You grow to accept it, John. You grow to enjoy it.”
“No,” John whispers.
“So much fire in you! You’d have made one hell of a rider. Such a shame you chose the righteous path, if you truly think what you do is righteous.”
“I do.”

The tall man smiles.

“How many have you killed? How many have you murdered? Some not even by your hand. Take young Samuel, the worker boy. You gave him false hope; hope that he would escape his torture. If it weren’t for you he would not be lying buried in a muddy creek. Or even Sonya and her tribe. Do you think Prince let them live? No! He slaughtered them. I’m sure some escaped but if you hadn’t been hunting me, none of them would have died. You are no better than I.”

John stands his ground. His legs threaten to buckle underneath.

“You liar!”
“They’re dead, John!” The tall man screams, “they’re all dead!”
“Silence!”

John reaches for his revolver. The tall man draws his first and fires. John stumbles back. Blood pours from his chest. He chokes, gasping for air. The tall man shoots him twice in the stomach. John sinks to his knees, his body limp, and falls to the earth, his eyes wide and staring.

***

John wakes with a shriek, his revolver drawn. His body is drenched in sweat. He shakes as he holsters his weapon, trying to gain control of his body. He lies shaking, longing for the touch of Rose, knowing that everything would be all right if only she was by his side. But Rose is dead, lying alone in front of a charred field, bloated and rotted, forever gone from this world. John sits up in bed, hugging himself, trying to breathe.

Outside the sun is a large orange blob in the sky, shadowed by the rising moon. The evening sun is almost gone. John has slept long.

He finally stops shaking and stands, pulling his clothes back on. He buttons his shirt and opens the door separating his room from the rest of the tavern. He closes the door behind him, not bothering to grab his shoes or lock it.

Below, the tavern is almost empty. The bartender sits with a book in his hands. He glances up from the book to John and nods before returning to the pages. His father, the drunk, has gone. The poker players have left. The two red haired men sit fast asleep at their tables, their heads against the wood.. The girl is gone as well.

John slowly makes his way down the stairs, taking his time as he goes. He soon reaches the first floor landing. He approaches the bartender.

“Can I help you, John?”

John nods once and swallows hard.

“You mentioned company?”
“Ah yes,” the bartender says, smiling slyly.

The bartender places his finger to his lips and whistles shrilly.

“Jane! Jane, you got a customer!”

A few seconds pass and then the door beside the bar opens. The girl dressed in violet burlesque exits. She pushes her blonde hair back.

“I was having dinner.”
“Hey it’s your money,” Billy replies.

Jane stops and eyes John, she turns to the bartender.

“I guess I’m finished.”

Jane smiles and straightens her dress. She grabs John by the shoulder and pulls her along with her. John turns back and sees Billy give him a wave.

“What room, honey?”
“I’m guessing the only one occupied right now,” John replies.
“Smart guy, huh? Get in.”

Jane opens the room door and pushes John inside, shutting the door behind her.

“Sit on the bed,” she says.

Her voice is stern and professional but her eyes are shining and afraid.

“You got money?”
“Yeah-”
“It’s a dollar a night, honey,” Jane replies, cutting John off.

John places the money in her outstretched hand. Jane removes her small purse and places the money inside. She returns it to her pocket.

“So how we gonna do this? You ever been with a working girl before?”
“No,” John replies, his eyebrows raised.
“Don’t worry, there’s a first time for everything.”

Jane reaches down and removes her stockings, tossing them across the room. She reaches for her skirt but John grabs her hand.

“Stop,” he whispers.
“You want me to do it slowly?”
“No.”
“You wanna do it?”
“No, please stop.”

Jane sighs and glances up at John.

“I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“What?”
“I just want the company.”
“You some kind of nut?”
“I just need the company. Just for the night.”

Jane clicks her tongue against her teeth and stops. She stares into John’s eyes. Her bright blue eyes shudder slightly. The fear in them has vanished.

“Alright. Ok. Just let me get my nightgown.”

***

John wakes in the night shaking. He struggles to breathe. Jane’s arm is wrapped around his chest. His breath slows. The warmth of her skin calms him. He begins to breathe normally. The shaking fades.

“Bad dreams?” Jane asks.

Jane sits up and stares at John. She is dressed in a modest but beautiful sleeping gown. John lies in the same clothes he’d worn when he’d first met her, his shirt included. She watches him.

“Always.”
“What are they about?” Jane asks.
“A girl.”
“What was her name?”
“Rose.”

Jane lies back.

“Was she beautiful?”
“She was divine,” John replies.
“Did you love her?”
“I did.”
“And she loved you.”
“Yes.”

Jane sighs and strokes John’s hair.

“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”

The two lie silent for some time. John breaks the silence.

“Why do you do what you do?”
“I think you should go back to sleep, John.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”

Jane turns away and lies still. John watches her.

“I lost my family some time ago. They were all I had. Jed and Billy took me in. They’re kind of like family. I worked in the bar for a while until I figured I’d make a lot more doing this. That’s really all there is to it,” Jane whispers.

John nods.

“I can tell you’re scared,” he says.

Jane lies quiet, not speaking. John turns away and sighs, shifting against the bed. He closes his eyes and sleeps.

***

John wakes to the sound of Jane screaming. Muffled voices below echo from the floor below. Outside night has fallen. Rays of silver moonlight spill through the open curtains, illuminating the small hotel room. John leaps to his feet and opens the door, grabbing his belt. One of the silver revolvers falls to the ground as John races down the stairs. He doesn’t bother to head back. John enters the first floor landing, his revolver drawn.

Billy lies on the floor. He holds his hand across a deep gash in his arm. A second cut heads across his cheek. Jed kneels beside him, holding his son. Tables are upturned, mugs smashed. The two red haired men stand in the center, each armed. The smaller one holds Jane in his arms, a knife to her throat. The other, bulky and towering in height, holds a shoddy six shooter above his head. A second six shooter is tucked into his belt. Their eyes are deep red. They’re drunk.

“Where’s the money? Empty the register!”

Jed sits holding his boy.

“It’s open, just take the money and go!”

John steps quickly into the middle of the tavern, his revolver trained between the two men. The red head with the revolver sneers.

“Drop the gun, buddy,” he snarls.
“I ain’t your buddy. Let them go.”
“Nah, you see, we’re taking this whore here, you understand?”
“You touch her you’re dead.”

Jane shakes against the red haired man. Tears stream down her eyes. Her face is black and bruised, her dress torn and ruined.

“Please help me...” she whispers.

The red head with the knife laughs, holding the blade against her throat. He holds her close to him, his hand fondling her breasts.

“Back up, bud. Ya see, we’re taking this whore with us. Gonna show her a fun time. Then, when we’re done, we might just leave her bleeding in an alley instead of cutting her throat. That all depends on her and you. So back off. We both know you ain’t gonna fire.”

John glances back and forth between the two red haired men. He breathes once and stops.

“I’m giving you one last chance, fellas. Take the money and leave.”

The red haired man smiles.

“Just kill her, Mark.”
“Jane, duck!” John screams.

John turns and fires once. The red head with the knife flies back, clutching his shoulder and screaming. John spins to face the stunned red head. The man fires once, the shot sailing wide. John pulls the trigger a second time. The man’s thumb disappears in a spray of blood as the pistol flies across the room. John cocks the hammer again but the second red head hits him from the side. His revolver flies across the floor as the two men go down.

The man grabs John by the arm. John elbows him twice in the face. With a snap the man’s nose breaks, sending two squirts of red blood across the ground. John hits him two more times and he passes out. John leaps to his feet, facing the larger red head. He holds the knife now. His eyes flash with rage. He rushes at John. John side steps and draws his hunting knife, slipping it into the man’s side. The man howls and falls to one knee. He drops the knife and reaches for the six shooter on his belt. John grabs the man’s hand and slams it on the table, driving his hunting knife through the palm. The man shakes in shock and stares up at John. Dark blood pours from his palm as he tries to remove the blade.

John stares down as the man.

“You should have left,” he whispers.

John strikes the man once across the face. The man slumps to the ground unconscious. John stands above the man, breathing harshly. He grasps his hunting knife by the handle and tears it out of the table, leaving a large hole in the man’s hand. He gasps and turns. Jed and Billy sit watching him with wide eyes. Jane stands alone, her dress stained with the red head’s blood. She holds her hands over mouth and steps towards John. She stumbles and John catches her in his arms. She stares up at him with her bright eyes. She smiles and grasps his hand. Then she faints.

John takes her in his arms and stands before the aftermath. He turns to Jed and Billy.

“Jed, take care of your son. These men aren’t getting up soon. And if you want to, maybe tend to them, especially the one without the finger.”

Jed nods silently, still watching John.

“I’m going to take care of Jane.”

Jed nods again. John approaches the stairs. Jed calls after him and he turns back. Jed holds up his son who leans against him.

“You really are a true rider.”
“My father was a rider. I am not.”

John turns and makes his way to his room, holding Jane in his arms.

***

Jane wakes slowly. John carefully dabs her face with a wet rag.

“How do you feel?”

Jane flinches and turns away from him.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispers.
“You’re a rider.”
“No. My father was. I’m not.”

Jane leaps to her feet. She stumbles back.

“The riders killed my family. How do I know you’re not one?”

John grabs her by the hand and pulls her to him. She turns away. John pushes her chin up. Her face is bruised and swollen, her hair matted. John stares into her eyes.

“Look at me. I will not hurt you. I hunt a rider.”
“The man who burns the corn?” she asks.

John nods. Jane embraces him.

“Please. Make him pay. Make him pay for what he’s done.”
“I will.”

John leads her back to the bed. They sit down. John dabs her face, washing away the powder and make up. Her face shines despite the bruises. John opens his bag and removes a needle and thread. He quickly stitches up the cut over her left eye, placing a bandage over it.

“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Don’t worry.”

Jane sits up.

“You’re bleeding.”
“What?”

John glances down at his right arm. A patch of blood slowly blossoms to the top. John removes his shirt. The gunshot wound has broken open again.

“Let me see,” Jane whispers, touching John’s arm.

John pulls away.

“It’s okay,” John insists.
“Let me see.”
“I’m fine.”

Jane grabs hold of John and pushes him on the bed. John tries to sit up but she pushes him down.

“You going to let me see your arm?”
“Okay.”

John sits up. Jane takes his needle and thread and begins to sew up his wound. John hisses in pain as she works. She finishes, cutting the thread with a small scissor.

“There. Good as new.”
“I never thought the woman I carried over the threshold would be a woman I paid to keep me company the first time I met her.”

John smiles. Jane laughs loudly, giggling. John stares deep into Jane’s eyes. She suddenly sits up and kisses his lips. John pulls away, his head turned.

“I’m sorry,” Jane whispers.
“It’s okay.”
“Truly, I am.”
“Don’t be. It’s just...”

Tears slowly fall from John’s eyes.

“I just miss her so much.”
“I understand.”

Jane wraps her arms around John.

“He took everything from us, Jane. The tall man killed our families.”
“I know,” Jane replies.
“He won’t get away with it. I promise.”
“I know.”

Jane holds her hand close to John’s beating heart. She whispers quietly in his ears. Together the two sit in silence, watching the clouds drift beyond the moon. The two orphaned children sit alone, shaking and rocking back and forth, forever united by the forces that broke their lives apart.