[Fiction] Black Hat Bill's Very Bad Adventures
Here's a weird west story I am working on. I intend on publishing a new short chapter each week until it's done. Enjoy!
Note (1/16/2025): story is complete! Hope you enjoyed Black Hat Bill's journey and got to follow along every week!
Quick Links:
Chapter Five (published 12/20/2024)
Chapter Six (published 12/27/2024)
Chapter Seven (published 1/3/2025)
Chapter Eight (published 1/10/2025)
Chapter Nine (published 1/16/2025)
Introduction
Alright, it is time for me to confess my journey to you, wary strangers. Don’t worry about the bite of the rope around your wrists and ankles. Oh and don’t worry about the lasso tightening around your neck, bud... I’ll explain that too. For now, sit up (if you can) and listen good! Because the same thing could be happening to you.
Chapter One
All Saints Eve Hanging
1866. It was All Saints’ Eve and I was in big trouble. I got caught outside Redrock Basin and I got told I’m due for a hanging. Then they were putting the rope around my neck on a cold nooner day, with shafts of light falling through the cracks in the dark cloudy skies. The heavens were against this, and the whole area held an eerie glow I could not describe without waxing poetics so I'll refrain.
The bottom line is I’m the villain of this story. I be due for a hangin’ but they don’t care to check if I committed the crime, and mind your manners when you speak to the judge, scum. All this they tell me while I was still piss drunk from the night before. I vaguely remember a fight, but last I thought I was getting knocked cold and the wood floor of the saloon felt like the coziest brothel pillow. The marshal had left town that morning with a report and most of it was quite a lie. Regardless, the judge trusted the words of a marshal, corrupt or honest, much more than from the mean mug I carry around and nobody bothered to believe the words that came between my crooked teeth. I pulled silver strands with my tongue but I held no power to sway the judge from entertaining the good folk of Redrock Basin on a windy Wednesday with a fashionable rope hanging for entertainment in the center square.
Redrock Basin got a judge? Since when? I protested, claiming the rights of the townsfolk were under the pressure of the tyrant. It didn’t matter. The good folks wanted to see the man with the black hat hang until his feet stopped shaking and his silhouette swayed in the wind. I was not alone on the hanging line. They already dropped two fellows before me and when the barrel kicked out from under me, I ripped my shoulder joints out: was not easy trying to reach my hands forward when they were tied behind my back. I swayed and the rope turned me around as I tried to keep my neck stiff. I kicked my legs and swung wildly while the hangman kicked out the next man’s barrel from under him.
I swung and I saw the light of the sun pierce through the square. I was blinded and a moment later I came to. White is black and black is white. The shafts of sunlight are deep shades dancing before my eyes.
The winds and the clouds were still there, hinting at a disgustingly bright star of choked-out void somewhere in the high heavens above me. My feet swayed and my arms hurt, but my neck was killing me. Nothing was broken but my windpipe was crushed and I felt two inches taller.
Every one of the townsfolk was now suddenly gone. I did not see the hangman or the hanged men anywhere either, though the ropes were left, moving with the wind. The grounds and buildings of the town were covered in soot and dust. I was alone in this desolate space, and it occurred to me that I was hanging somewhere between life and death. When I realize the possibility I wonder who is conscious in all this. I can feel pain but I cannot move. Perhaps this is Hell.
From the corner of my left eye, I saw the silhouette of a man in black. His first step was almost a fall forward, as though he stepped out of one of the shafts of darkness spilling from the impossible sky.
I could not do much more than squint as I swayed in the invisible wind. His body is twisted and long, though vaguely human in its number of limbs. I thought I might be seeing double. He even wore boots and a hat, but his features were hard for me to discern. He was already chuckling as he approached. His voice was deep and lingered around as it echoed through the timeless space of a dry and windy room.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t time to make the deal you’ve been waiting for,” he says with enough cruelty that I can guess where this is going. But I know better than to fall into assumptions. “I have a job for you to do,” he says, “but this is also the end of the line *hehe* so I’ve got a special offer and if you don’t take it, I'll take you straight to Oblivion City.”
My jaws were stuck together by the weight of my carcass against the rope. My joints had tightened like this and the crick in my neck would never straighten out. I still managed to spit out some words, telling him, “Shove your offer in the darkest hole of Oblivion City, friend-o: I don’t make deals with devils.”
He howled in amusement and said “I’m not sure you actually have a choice here, lil' buddy” as he slapped black iron manacles on my wrists and a thick metal collar around my neck. “You’re my death slave for the next hundred years due to your crimes against mankind.”
“Oh. Only a hundred?” I replied with a nudge more sarcasm than I thought his temper could take, whoever he was supposed to be.
Without missing a beat he replied, “If I had been the holy judge assigned to your case, you would have earned 300 years of solitude, if it’s any consolation.”
I grunted and struggled against the noose, the ties, and the manacles. I noticed the manacles have no chains, and the collar only has three rings of black iron chains. I was vaguely aware of a stinging pain where the black iron touched my flesh, although, it wasn’t quite flesh, was it? If I was between life and death, say somewhere between Redrock Basin and Oblivion City (wherever or whatever that meant), then why was I embodied into this broken corpse? I figured I might as well ask him, so I did, sputtering my words between struggles of pain as I drew breath between my locked jaws.
“How come I can feel pain if I’m dead and hanged?”
His smiling demeanor gets serious and he explains, almost angry that he has to take the time to do so, “Because your exact time of death is up to me. Because I could keep you here for a couple of eons and nobody would notice. Because I want you to use your body in the world of the living, so the deal I’m giving you involves going back to where you came from, maybe get some revenge, maybe just do as I tell you, but either way, you’re bound to me now and will have to do as I say, unless you prefer suffering as an impotent carcass, crying and drying in the invisible sun.”
“Fuck that painful stuff... You, uh, you can order me around, Boss! But yeah, please fix me and let me out of my binds.”
“We’ll get around to that.” He put a black cloth sack over my head and it smelled like someone died in it yesterday.
I felt the noose loosen and I dropped my knees to the ground. He caught me before my head hit and he swooped me away. In this darkness, with barely perceptible light piercing through the fabric of this black veil, I felt as though he was dancing me around and around, flying off miles away in an instant, and he was!
My new boss was marvelous, but since I was not actually into obeying any entity except the ones already inside my head, I felt I didn’t need all the bossing around he would get to do for the next hundred years (if that was even the truth to begin with).
I spoke a prayer to my guardian angel, though it was little more than a bit of muffled muttering, mostly manifesting as a quick aside to myself. ‘Help me, dear, dear angel, and I will straighten my path and find light at the end of my journey. Amen.”
My guardian angel took her sweet time, didn’t she? I was dancing and moving back and forth as bossman travelled fast across the lands of Texas. I gathered my strength and when I felt the right time had come, I kicked my new boss in the space between his many legs, hoping I would hit a spot typically vulnerable against a common man. It seemed to do the trick, as the new bossman dropped me immediately and I spun out of control into a sudden gust of wind. It felt like I was falling right out of the sky! I struggled to rip the rope that bound my hands, and I grunted and struggled. I could only imagine what a spectacle that must have looked like from the outside. The noose was looser around my neck and the iron collar was cold on my skin. I ripped the rope to eventual shreds, then reached for the hood and ripped it off too.
I was still spinning and falling out of the sky, and I beheld the land shaking as it rushed towards me. I barely let go of the hood when I suddenly landed in a patch of spiny cactus. That was just my luck, wasn’t it? I still thanked my guardian angel, just in case.
*****
I quickly realized that my body was broken. The iron cuffs and the collar were still in place. I felt pain in my limbs, my throat, and my neck for the most part. I also felt the sting of the cactus spines embedded deep into my flesh, but something was worse: the pain was dull and distant which felt strange. It was more like an itch I could not scratch than something that truly bothered me. Yet my left hand was twisted around the wrist a wrong amount of turns, bunching the skin and creating creases that would not come out no matter how many times I twisted and reset the broken bone in place. I put myself back together the best I could, pulling and pushing this bit of bone... adjusting this joint. And it was not just my wrist that was in shambles. Many of my joints were dislocated or torn.
I stood up and tried to get my bearings. I was somewhere in a desert plain with a mesa in the distance. Yellowed-out patches of dried cactus with thick thorns and drought-stricken juniper brush made up the flora, with the occasional patches of grassy tufts, and crimson or violet wildflowers making for the only colors to be found in the depressing grey of this place. I turned around, observing the horizon, but I was nowhere that I could recognize. I saw a mountain range, a distant canyon... No rivers in sight though I was not thirsty at all. Or hungry for that matter. The sky was still a mess of clouds and shafts of darkness passing beyond it. Everything looked as though it was the underside of reality. I am not sure how else to explain it, but chime in if you’ve ever encountered anything like it.
I heard a flutter of wings and spotted a vulture nearby. A voice quickly followed his arrival: I heard his gravelly voice squawk a greeting of sorts. “What did you say?” I asked as I turned to the vulture, expecting to confirm I misheard things.
“I said, hey buddy,” the squawking vulture repeated. “You look a bit lost.”
I looked around. “Well, I am.”
“That, you are!” he squawked. “Need some help?”
I hesitated. “Uhm, yeah, sure. Although I’m not yet sure what kind of help I need.”
“Ya sure look like you could use a guide...”
“Yeah, I could see how it looks like that,” I retorted, getting annoyed. “Are ya offering?”
“Ye, I s’ppose I could do you a solid and guide ya out of this patch of trouble you’re in for.” He shifted closer to me and I could see he was sort of squinting his eyes to get a better understanding of what he would be dealing with. “Let’s start with introductions. I’m George.”
“Hi George, I’m Bill,” I told him. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”
He squawked again as he fluttered his wings, though this time it was a long, hiccuppy squawk that sounded like he was laughing a good amount. When he was done laughing at me, he replied, “Oh they all say that down here... It’s nothing new. Were you given your first assignment already?”
“My first assignment for what?” I asked him, getting even more frustrated. He spoke to me as though I knew anything about anything and it felt like I did not know anything at all.
“Oh shit, you’re really at the beginning of your journey then. Are you fresh? I don’t smell fresh corpse on you so I assumed you were at least a little seasoned on this side of the coin...”
“Alright, look, George... You’re just confusing the fuck outta me. What’s this about a coin?”
I swear I saw the bird roll his eyes. And you gotta understand: the eyes on this vulture were black, beady and small, so it could have been my imagination. George moved around the cactus patch that cushioned my landing, noticing the ‘Me’-shaped silhouette, then he walked around me to take a good look at me. As he got closer, I noticed he smelled absolutely terrible. I really wanted to get the most info out of this talking bird as quickly as possible then be rid of him.
“Alright, Bill,” he replied in a low voice, a hushed tone that implied he did not want to be overheard sharing deep secrets. “You’ve got a lot to learn, but let’s start with the basics, buddy. You’re dead *kinda* and you’re following different rules on this side of reality. I can see by the cuffs and collar that you're bound to some other entity, probably the feller who put them on, though not necessarily."
He paused to let me catch up as my brains percolated, absorbing the newfound suggestion that I really did get hanged and this was not some bad dream after all. George continued his explanation, shifting back and forth on his little vulture feet.
"We’re on the flip side of things and if you’re here, in this form that probably... generally looks like your previous *living* self, then you’ve probably got a contract to go back and forth. Back and forth between what, you ask? Well, simply put, between the world of the living and the world of the dead. And where we are is typically called ‘the mirror’s edge’, or just ‘the edge’ for short. We’re kinda behind-the-scenes of reality, if you’re familiar with vaudeville.”
I listened to his little speech echo in my head for a minute as I rotated to look at the horizon again. “Alright, that sounds about right,” I admitted, hesitant. “But I’m not sure what I’m expected to do.”
“Oh, if that was not decidedly explained to you already, then what I would do is get rid of these iron shackles and you might become one of them free-agents! And that’s pretty much the best spot you can be in if you're living on the edge. You can work both sides: the light and the dim. More than likely, you’ll end up a simple messenger or package carrier... Unless you got some special skills or anything. Or special knowledge. Or a power over others that cannot be explained..." He looked at me intently, "Got anything like that?”
I thought about my skills for a minute. Nothing sounded impressive... except “I don’t ever feel remorse when I’m done killing... Unless it’s kids, that always kinda depresses me.”
George looked at me in silence for a moment. “Oh boy, Bill, you’re a real piece of work, ain’t you. Who brought you here? They probably explained something to you, unless you were told not to remember, then you would have been told a few things and those things would drive you into action... So probably not since you seem to have trouble with making up your mind about things.”
It was my turn to hesitate as I considered whether or not to tell him I kicked the entity that was likely meant to assign me some work in this backstage of the underworld, or wherever the hell I was now. “So, actually I don’t know who they were, but there was this guy...”
“A-ha, see!”
“Let me finish!” I sighed. “Alright, so there was this guy that put these iron cuffs and collar on me, then he started carrying me through the sky and well... I kicked him and fell down to here.”
“Ooooh! Oh, I see... So was he carrying you up? To the clouds?” George inquired, now riveted, curious.
“I, uh... I’m not quite sure, but it felt like he had something in mind for me and he was carrying me across rather than up. My journey started near the town square at Redrock Basin, up to wherever I am now.”
“You landed somewhere on the flipside of west Texas, so not too far from where you started your run. Fort Davidson is over that mountain.” George gestured his head a certain way.
“Not too far?! That’s a couple hundred miles at least! I was only in the air for a minute at most!”
“So let me get this straight. You have an easy time believing you’re in a state of existence between life and death, but you can’t believe that one of them fallen messengers can travel at least a couple hundred miles a minute? Besides, you don’t really know where you were, or even where Fort Davidson is... You’re really lucky I found you considering how clueless you are.”
“Hey, now!” I protested.
“I’m just saying it like it is. But at least it’s going to help me pass the time if I tag along for a bit so, yeah, I can be your guide here.”
“I mean, I didn’t really ask.”
*****
And that’s how my journey through the desert began, with broken bones, cactus rash, and an incessant chatterbox vulture for a companion. I would have picked the horse with no name if I could have.
The land on the mirror's edge was this impossible painting of light and dark, the colors drained from the land for the most part. The brightness of the sky and the great black sun shone high above, pouring from the blinding pit of darkness above, which gave me a sense of dizziness and confusion when I looked too long towards the skies. I sensed that the shadows of the lands and canyons were places of light where I would feel comfortable if I needed rest.
George ended up being useful once I could tune him out from time to time. I learned quite a bit about my new condition: a state of living death, or rather as he explained it “being in a place where life or death has no bearing on motion and will.” I suggested it was some sort of purgatory, but George quickly corrected me that purgatory was yet another place, one which could be worth visiting in the future if I ever converted to Catholicism. Not a priority, I told him.
He went on and on until my feet were finally done carrying me to Fort Davidson. I paused when the fort came into view and took a moment to observe.
“What are you going to do when you get there?” George asked.
“Hopefully get these shacklings off my limbs and neck. That'll be a start... Probably finding me a pair of guns next.’
“Well that's as far as I go. I'll hang around the region in case you wanna link up again.”
I rolled my eyes and turned my boots towards Fort Davidson, having no idea what to expect from the inhabitants, dwellers, or other strangers I would be coming across.
Chapter Two
Fort Davidson is Full of Assholes
Fort Davidson on the Mirror’s Edge seemed like a typical frontier town to me, growing along a major route and built to support the fort itself. There was more bustling and hustling than I expected, since we were on the Mirror’s Edge as Vulture George had put it. The first point of order for me was to find booze and get the iron cufflinks and collar off of me. The subtle icons scratched into the iron was making me feel uneasy considering the strange being that put them on me in the first place. I am prone to being careful and paranoid, but without anything to go off of except the word of my vulture guide, it did occur to me that I could be recognized or tracked as the death slave of whoever the dude was who got me off the hanging rope.
So I strolled in slowly, noticing that there were many human forms in various stages of decay and tangibility. This really was a strange place. I told myself that one more stranger (me) would not look too out of place. I walked past the various little businesses along the main street. I noticed the fort, the chapel on the hill, but my eyes lingered on the words S-A-L-O-O-N and D-A-N-C-E-R-S painted in big letters on one of the buildings. I entered the establishment and realized it was surprisingly empty, with only three patrons, a bartender, and a dancing girl who was probably a good-looking lady at some point in her past. I winced when I noticed her midriff was uncovered and her guts were completely missing, leaving a thin veil to corset her spinal column silhouetted against the dark walls of the saloon. Her face was cute in spite of all the makeup she had piled on.
The barman was grim, his lower jaw looked out of place, as though he had lost it long ago and got a replacement jaw from a local tough guy. Barman greeted me with a typical “howdy, pard’ner” and I nodded —without my hat!— in return. Two other men were gambling with large cards at a small round table, while another patron sat at the bar, mumbling to himself. The trouble was I had no money for a drink... I had only entered the saloon in hopes I could find a way to earn some coin and get a better idea as to what this town on the Mirror’s Edge could offer.
I walked up to the bar and sat. Barman’s somber voice clicked, “spirits or grog?”
“Grog,” I replied, because it sounded cheaper (and I was right). I continued in a bit lower tone “Although I need to earn some coin before I can pay my tab here... You probably know someone who’s looking to have some work done, barman?”
The barman looked at me, judging me fully for the first time. I tried to conceal my manacles and collar links from the other patrons, but discreetly allowed him to notice them. He pulled the grog off of the counter and proclaimed, his voice a bit louder and gruff, “You seem the type that better pay upfront. Two hundred dollars for the grog.”
“Wait, what?!” I exclaimed a bit too loud. “TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS for the grog! Well how much is a shot of the spirits?!”
Suddenly everybody in the saloon burst out laughing and I definitely felt like the butt of the joke, which I’m quite experienced with. I ignored them and looked at the barman until he was done chuckling.
“Well this here is quality grog and that’s the price of liquor, pard’ner.”
“Who can afford to pay that kind of money for grog?!” I continued, my anger getting the best of me. “I’ll not be taken advantage of, I’m warning you!” My hand instinctively reached for my belt, but my guns were still gone.
The dancing girl (sweet lady that she was) approached and sat in my lap, her smile and closeness suddenly impacting my ability to remain angry. She reached her hand up to the links that hung from my black iron collar and clinked them together. “You are not where you used to be and things on this side of things take a bit to get used to, but... Is this your first time?” she asked playfully, teasing me.
I cleared my throat a little and whispered, “It’s true that I’m a Mirror’s Edge virgin, ma’am... Would you um.. care to be my guide for a bit? You smell a lot nicer than my previous one.” And it was true. She smelled like french perfumes and something else which was a bit less potent, reminiscent of formaldehyde.
“Well, why don’t we sit together for a bit and I’ll explain a thing or two.” And so she sat on my lap and talked to me about the state of things, all the while making idle conversation, which seemed to amuse the heavy-jawed barman. According to ‘Birdie’ (clearly a stage name) the price of things was a little different on this side, especially for things like alcohol which cannot be brewed or distilled on the Mirror’s Edge. This explained the lack of activity at the saloon. The saloon was also where ill-gotten gain was spent, but not where job opportunities were likely to come up. For that, according to Birdie, I needed to head to the undertaker’s. All I could think of was how angry Vulture George made me for not telling me some of these basic facts of life, or unlife, or whatever this really was. I suppose a vulture might not be aware of the intricacies of human interactions but a little heads up would have gone a long way.
All in all, it felt pretty nice to be in close proximity with this pretty bird of a lady, and by the end I even sort of enjoyed resting my hand along her bony spine, playing with the sinew that was still there for me to tug on. She even was kind enough to make me feel like I belonged. It was more pleasant than it was strange, though strange it was!
I thanked Birdie profusely for her guidance and promised to return once I made it big so I could spend my money in style. She blew me a kiss as I left the saloon and I winked at her. I ignored them when I heard them laugh at me behind my back as I walked away and out of the swinging doors. I lingered on the boardwalk for a minute, then I turned my boots towards the undertaker’s bustling business.
There, I found the feel of a real world saloon. Folks were ignoring me and I felt a different kind of ease as I observed them. The undertaker’s yard was full of new and old pine boxes making up most of the furniture, with boney folks tossing dice and playing cards, shooting the shit, though there was no sharing of food or drinks. I supposed that I was not thirsty or hungry myself so this sort of made sense. The undertaker himself was inside the building, sitting with three men and the moldy flesh on their faces betrayed the fact that they were having a serious conversation. Not a good time to interrupt, I told myself, so I meandered a bit further in. Eventually, I heard the clanking of the blacksmith a bit past the undertaker’s yard.
Now THERE was a man who could help me with my iron cufflink problem. He was hammering for a bit and I did not care to interrupt him just then. I waited until he threw the bit of iron back in the forge’s blue flame. The iron did not look right. I noticed some of the tools the smith used were quite unusual and I wondered what a blacksmith would do except make more cufflinks, chains, and collars. Lots of chains hanging from the ceiling of his smithy, now that I cared to notice.
“Smitty, if I could have a moment of your time...” I said, my voice a bit softer than I intended.
“What is it, fell’r?” he said gruffly, his eyes on the unearthly blue flames dancing around his beaten iron rod.
“Was wondering if you could remove these iron things that weigh me down...”
He slowly turned towards me and along with his gaze I felt his immense anger. This creature made me afraid to my core in an instant and I thought, ‘now THERE is a man with real power in this damned place.’ I felt his cold gaze play along the edges of the iron cuffs and collar.
“Hmm... And you’ve got three links on the collar already? Who put these on you?”
“The thing that brought me to this place,” I replied. “I kicked him and fell, but the iron stayed on.”
“Why didn’t you just remove your flesh and cast the iron off?”
I hesitated. “I guess I had not considered it. But I thought you might help.”
He thought for a moment then said, “Yeah, I could do that for ya... But you have to do something for me in return.”
“Alright, and what would that be?”
“Play fetch boy for a day and I’ll let those irons loose.”
“Hmm, and what will that entail?”
“Well I have shipments to the fort to drop off and materials to pick up... And laundry to get from the mining camp.”
I did not want to ask too many questions so I agreed. He gave me a list of things and I hoped not to forget anything, because neither of us could read or write so the list was to be memorized. I took his wheelbarrow and started moving things for him as he had instructed me. His list put me to work and all the while I was walking around, feeling very exposed to the other living-impaired folks of Fort Davidson. Each had a mean glare to gift me, or even mean words, and by the end of the day I realized why: they were jealous. They were jealous that, while I was an ugly piece of work, and had no guns, no money, and not even a hat, my flesh was fresher than theirs. I was mocked as a living being a couple times and the verbal harassment was rather unpleasant, but nothing to take personally. In fact, while I really wanted to hide my face under my old black hat (which was likely somewhere in Redrock Basin), by the end of my day of chores, I displayed my very human mug with pride. I wondered about the things Birdie and George had not mentioned to me. I wondered about the implied culture of this place.
My first day of working while living on the Edge was fruitful. I met with a couple of officers at the fort. I made contact with the taskmasters of the mining operation over yonder. It was like discovering a whole new country, and it was, but it still felt like a familiar pastiche of the frontier lands I was used to.
When I returned to the smith, he said to lay down on his big anvil in the back shop. The big anvil was a block of iron stone big enough to lay a corpse on. There were markings scratched deep into the surface of the thing, like the type that did not look like any alphabet I ever came across. I did not question him when he told me to lay down on my back and relax, although I felt apprehensive that I had in fact been duped and that he would add even more problems to my current condition.
He grabbed a large hammer from the shelf, with a shaft thicker than my arm, and an iron block head bigger than my own. I closed my eyes, expecting him to just crush my face under the weight of it, but instead he expertly swung the hammer down three times, popping the manacles, then the collar. After that he placed the hammer back down and just LEFT! I noticed I was gasping for air, but that was more from the excitement of being so totally exposed, vulnerable to this man, who was probably the strongest person I had ever encountered, bar none! I picked up the manacles and collar and threw them in a decrepit sack I found in a detritus-filled corner of his smithy. I thought it would be great irony if I could one day put those on the entity that had slapped them onto me in the first place.
I wondered about how the sun had not set after all of these events, and that was just the sort of thing I would have to get used to. I started heading out of town, giving Birdie a curt nod (she was rocking a chair on the boardwalk outside of the saloon), pointing out that my collar was off. She smiled and returned the nod.
Outside of Fort Davidson, I saw my guide, Vulture George, pacing back and forth near the bleached, discarded bones of a goat. “So you made it!” he squawked in greeting.
“I did. I made it through Fort Davidson and came out greater than I was... That is to say, I’m free!” I tossed him the bag of iron cuffs.
“So... What’s next, boss? Where we headed now?” George asked, flapping his wings, stretching his neck to and fro.
“Well, I think I want to try and go back. Get my hat and my guns and have a little fun again.”
“Go back?! Oh, you mean to the living world!” He exclaimed, then squawked his strange laughter and shook his head. “Bill, don’t forget: going back also means your corpse... I mean, your body starts to rot... not fast like a standard vulture meal, you know, but you can expect just a little bit of decay each time you cross over.”
“Well, shit. So you’re saying I’m a free man again but I’m still stuck on the Edge?”
“Honestly, you were gone so long I thought you already found a way back to the living. You’re not stuck though! I just thought you would want to stay here, you know, with me.”
“How so?” I inquired.
“Look, I don’t usually make friends with the unseasoned corpses of the edge, but you’re a bit of a special case. You’re fresh! And you’re an All Saints Day Eve corpse at that! You look very human, except for your little physical issues, but I’d say you could pass as a living man if you cross over again. That could be useful to some folks here on this side.”
“How do I cross back over?” I asked him, sitting down next to the sack. George moved a little closer and I could smell him again. It was not as bad now as the first time I caught a whiff of him, though. Perhaps I was getting used to him.
“There are a good number of ways to do it. You could use your emotions surrounding any unfinished business you may have had. You could take a messenger contract, or any kind of crossover contract from the undertakers. That usually seems to open up some options for you. You could find a source of holy light, though they are rare. But best of all, it’s All Saints Day! You can probably just pop over to the Chapel and ask the reverend for a blessing that will help you go back, well, you know, if religion’s your thing...”
“Hmm, not really my thing. A messenger contract suits me fine, mind you, so I’ll go with that.”
I chatted with George a bit longer. I got used to his annoying squawking voice a bit more. It grated on me much less than earlier.
I pondered a bit while I ignored what he was saying. The landscape was still very unreal to me: the dancing darkness above, the white points of light in the canyons beyond the horizon, the sheer lack of vivid colors, and now the rising mist of a distant storm. There was peace in this surreal place, but I felt no desire to rest nor sleep. I still felt no hunger or thirst of any kind, but I deeply wished I could track that shitty marshal who set me up for a wrongful hanging. Oh yes, how I would like to wring his neck with my own two hands! I felt my limbs crackle with energy when I rested my thoughts on the chance at revenge. Hell, I’d kill the judge, and the whole damn town of Redrock Basin if I could, what with their cheering each time one of us hanged men dropped from the tipped barrels. I hated them. I hated them and my hate gave me strength. I felt it! I felt it manifest deep inside of me and I wanted to scorch the whole damned Earth if I could.
“So?” George asked at the end of his speech. “All in all, what did you think of Fort Davidson on the Mirror’s Edge?”
I looked back at the fort in the distance and said, “Fort Davidson is full of assholes.”
George laughed and said, “That it is, Bill... That it is.”
Chapter Three
Land o’ the Living
I spent a little more time outside Fort Davidson, mostly hiding from the thing that had shackled me, and keeping my eyes on anyone entering or leaving. I knew I could not do that forever, and I was still grossly naked as a proper man. That was to say, I needed my Black Hat and my guns. On the other hand, there was no way I could trek back to Redrock Basin and claim them. For all intents and purposes, those things were gone. The problem was that I had no money and no way to steal those things from another fellow living on the Edge.
I fully expected that the entity was after me, but in spite of its ability to travel through shafts of darkness from the strange skies above (I could not bring myself to call them Heavens), I had seen no signs of the thing, that ignoble and inhuman creature.
I waited what felt like forever until the sun above was on the horizon. I spat on the ground and said, “Does this black sun ever set? It makes me sick.”
“The days here feel longer, don’t they?” He cackled a laugh along with his question.
“That they do. I guess that’s the torment or the reward? Extra time to ponder what problems brought you here?”
“No dummy, I told you. This is the in between place. The Mirror’s Edge. Time is not a thing here, only cycles exist.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, I got it,” I replied, and that was that. As if any of this made any sense...
Another forever and the black sun had set, and the skies glowed with the dimness of distant stars, and now a great glow, like the aurora borealis except magnified, almost magnificent. I was mesmerized and transfixed until George invited me out of my reverie. I got up, dusted myself and said “goodbye, George,” and he said, “see ya later.”
No shafts of darkness piercing the sky or the clouds. That felt like enough safety for me to leave my makeshift haunt. I mean, vantage point. I walked into town again, and along mainstreet I was hoping to catch Birdie’s eyes again but the pretty lady was not there. I walked along the shops and looked for the hattery and the gunsmiths. I stared at the price tags and wondered how much cash jobs paid around here to afford such enormous prices ($800 for a quality revolver, $1500 for the pair! Outrageous!, and a quality black hat (of all things) was selling for $450! Another outrage!). My eyes just about fell out of my skull when I gauged those price tags.
Outwardly, I displayed none of my inner outrage at these prices, and I headed straight for the undertaker’s yard, grumbling along the way. I spent some time observing the crowd of the various dead, undead, living dead, walking dead. It was a bizarre mish-mash of unconventional decay, and the more decayed, the stranger the entity looked to me, and the closer they leered AT me. Yet, I did not feel any fear of them as undead, merely as dangerous things I did not wish to meddle with. I still felt very ignorant of this place.
Space was distorted here and as I moved around the yard several times, I realized the bazaar was expansive and extended much further than I thought. For the most part, I saw gamblers, religious criers who offered blessings in exchange for jobs, peddlers of all sorts (that was to say scammers), but I also witnessed some hidden exchanges, some people meeting for the first time, and it seemed to me that all of the real activity, the real center of town, was here. Because I looked new and practically untouched by decay, I was quickly gaining the attention of scammers of all types. I made my way to a gambling table and pretended to play to avoid them.
In this manner, I met the three men gambling. One of them, Samuel, was a mustachioed man with a soft, deep voice and quick to wink at you. He made me feel at ease for a minute and let me look at his cards, so I gave him good advice and he got lucky after that. He offered me a job to transport sweet letters to two widows in Santa Fe.
“An easy job that pays well,” he told me.
I said, “Yessir, but how much is the pay? If you don’t mind me asking, of course. As you know, I’ll need half up front and you have my word, I will take those letters there myself!”
He replied and said, “It pays $2000 dollars. Per letter.” He took the letters out of his inner pocket. They looked stiff and freshly folded. A neat trick, I thought. I kept myself from reacting to the amount he mentioned.
In terms of money, that was more than I had earned my entire life. Most bandits and gangs I ended up running with were too greedy to let me see much of the loot, then they were always gone by the time I’d wake up in the morning, then I’d always hunt them down a few days later, but they already spent all the money on booze and dancehall girlfriends, so I’d be left with scraps of cash and graves to dig... because you don’t cross Black Hat Bill without consequence, I mean, that’s a given! Anyways, where was I? Ah, yes.
Sam continued with his slow twang, “Now, these letters here. They need to be handed down in person, you understand that. This is extremely important. You have a fresh looking mug for a dead guy so it should not be a big deal for you.” He paused to sip on a flask, gave a little cough, then carried on with his instructions. “You are to hand the widows their letters and wait until they are done reading. And if they offer to write a letter or to give you anything in return for delivering the letter, you take what they offer you and bring it to here. That is where you will meet one of my friends, who will give you the other half for completing the job.” Then he took out and showed me a third, smaller envelope, blank on the outside, presumably with the address of his friend inside. “As for the first half of the job, let me suggest that you do not spend it on the Mirror’s Edge.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, with a sly grin.
“Well, if you are a frugal man like myself, you will notice that the price of things here is an exact reflection of their rarity, not of their quality... Let’s go walk outside of the yard for a bit, shall we?” He grabbed the three letters and deftly slid them into his inner pocket again, then he said his goodbye to his gambling friends and tipped the dealer. I followed him out of the yard, crossing paths with previously aggressive peddlers who now regarded me differently as they considered who accompanied me. I wondered what his reputation was like, but I also did not want to screw up this job. We walked to the boardwalk that connected several of the businesses, which all appeared to be open. I supposed that nobody slept. I certainly felt no need or desire for sleep and presumed everyone else here felt the same. We entered the cigar shop and while he was purchasing new ones he handed me a wad of cash that I quickly pocketed. “That’s two thousand in advance,” he whispered close to my ear. “I do not like to mistrust people I just met, but I must warn you that I like pursuing lost money even less, and I am willing to do both. It would do you well to follow through with this job, Mister Bill.” He poked his finger at my shoulder for emphasis.
At that moment, I felt more threatened than reassured, but I knew he would be true to his word, and if I betrayed him and cashed in now, he would hunt me down and make me pay. I knew his type and I knew better than to mess with him. I gave him the usual sly smile and said, “You got it, boss!” He handed me the three envelopes.
He smiled back and handed me a newly purchased cigar, so we shot whiskey at his expense and smoked cigars until our voices croaked, then I left, jolly and rich, and I walked away from that miserable town. George landed at my feet and right away he told me he could smell cash on me.
“How did you know?!”
“I told you, I can smell it,” George replied.
“Do you ever use that to find money?”
“Not really. It doesn’t taste very good and I have no other use for it. But why didn’t you spend it in town?”
“They’re price gouging.”
“I don’t know what that is...” George replied.
“Besides, I got the money to cross over and deliver letters to a couple of widows. I’m heading to Santa Fe, which is perfect for me, because things are a lot cheaper in the land o’ the living. This is all turning out amazing for me... The whole death thing, I mean. I’m finally turning my life around. Honest work and everything.”
I took the wad of cash out of my pocket and counted the money. $2000 cold cash! I could not believe it.
George squawked a laugh. “But still, why wouldn’t you buy yourself a gun before leaving town? Aren’t you about to walk all the way there? That’s hundreds of miles away. You don’t have a horse or anything. You don’t even have a hat!”
George was right. I had nothing to my name except the cash I could not spend here without feeling like I had wasted this fortune. After some chit chatting with the vulture, we agreed to work together while trekking through the desert until we hit a town where I could cross over safely, then ideally I could travel by horse the rest of the way to Santa Fe. He would scout ahead for me and watch from above so I could avoid other travelers and critters, since I was pretty vulnerable without a gun to run the trail with.
I thought it was nice of him considering I offered nothing in return except a bit of company every now and then when I felt like tuning in to what he was saying. He insisted he was entertained by my fresh perspective on things and was curious where my boots would take me, that was to mean ‘my destiny’. He really did think I was special because of when I died and was brought here. He insisted on its significance, but I saw nothing in it except an odd coincidence, if anything at all. It was my opinion at the time that days and nights, and even seasons, have only their own significance when in the context of the whole thing. Calendars meant little to people like me, and now that I was dead, they meant even less.
So I trekked the trail from Fort Davidson to Fort Quitter, on the Mirror’s Edge side of things. According to George, there was a makeshift cemetery outside Fort Quitter that I could use to cross over to the land of the living. However, the trail from Fort Davidson to Fort Quitter was long and rife with danger! Haha, who am I kidding? It was the most uneventful and boring walk I ever experienced, life or unlife. Nobody traveled on the Mirror’s Edge because of the sand worms and other strange critters of this desolate country that plagued the wilderness. George warned me about those and told me how to avoid them, thanks to his scouting. I noticed he had a couple other vultures tagging along and about halfway through the journey, I grew paranoid that Vulture George was leading me astray to eat my corpse with his buddies. Having no other choice, I shrugged off my concerns and marched on, staying to the side of the trail in case I needed to hide from the bossman entity in a hurry. That was the thing that scared me most: being put back into shackles and unearthly servitude. But as I mentioned, nothing eventful occurred along the trail. I did end up hiding the shackles and collar at a little spot called Deadman’s Hole on the way there. I left the sack near the hole, covered it with a funny shaped boulder bigger than my head.
Nonetheless, the impressive part of the long trek was the amount of loneliness I could deal with without losing my mind. Memories of my life played in my mind over the mirage of strange landscape from time to time. It was a strange experience with extended periods of insight regarding where my short and violent life as a grifter had taken me.
I was impressed upon seeing the Rio Grande for the first time, and watching the way its unnatural waters flowed, a sea of dark and light waves dancing down. Wide and fast waters, these were. I was grateful not to have to cross the river to get to my destination. I merely followed up the river until I found Fort Quitter. George and his buddies joined me from time to time to give me updates as to what I would encounter ahead, which was always nothing and nobody on the trail. He was a lot less talkative with his buddies around, but he still gave me scouting details as we had discussed.
The feelings of loneliness persisted and from time to time, I noticed I was just putting one foot in front of the other, but ultimately, I would forget what I was doing on this trail. I would remind myself by squeezing the letters in my pocket. This was a long, strange, and boring journey.
~~~~~
Fort Quitter was different from Fort Davidson. Where Fort Davidson developed a mercantile derived from frequent travelers, and what was clearly the start of a frontier town, Fort Quitter was something else altogether: it was much smaller, there were no soldiers garrisoned here. For all purposes, it was abandoned and made the trek feel more lonely. Time hardly seemed to pass, but the days and nights had also somehow accelerated, with the black sun’s shafts of darkness appearing.
I heard the flap of heavy wings and looked up in time to watch George and his buddies descend upon my little spot outside Fort Quitter. “Hiya, Bill.”
“Hey, George,” I replied. “I’m not sure this is a good spot to cross over after all.”
“Well, you might be right about that. I thought there might be some supplies you could get from here, but I’m not so sure now.”
“Certainly won’t find a horse here,” I complained to him.
“It might still be a nice spot to cross over,” he suggested, salvaging the idea of Fort Quitter as a decent spot on my journey.
“So, about that... How do I cross back over exactly?”
“Well, usually I fly around until the static in the air feels right, then I kind of dive down to the ground and find myself on the Living Side rather than the Mirror’s Edge. I think it’s kind of the same for you. You should be able to walk around the cemetery until you find the right spot to step through.”
“That’s so vague, come on. How do I find the spot, really? And don’t you say, you’ll know when you see it.”
“But you will know when you see it, just go take a walk in the cemetery for a while.”
I shook my head, annoyed at George, all the while wondering why I would bother trusting a dumb talking bird. The feelings of paranoia flared inside me and I wondered what I could use to fend off these birds if they really did attack me. At my feet, there were some stones bigger than my hand that I could strike them with. That was at least something, I told myself, but the three vultures never made their move. They just watched me with their small beady eyes and squawked from time to time.
I roamed around Fort Quitter, confirming it had been abandoned several years ago. I found no hat worth salvaging, and no guns, and certainly no horse, not even the carcass of one. After a while, I found the bone orchard somewhere northeast of the fort and I started walking among the wood crosses, reading names from time to time. I walked around and around the graves until I noticed the hair raise on the back of my neck, and I thought this was my chance to cross over. I concentrated on the area where I felt this feeling, looking around for a visual cue that I might be able to leave the Mirror’s Edge for good.
I supposed I had to give George some credit: I did know it when I saw it. There, at the edge of the cemetery plot, there was a sort of cloud of light, vaguely visible, like a mist that would not dissipate fully, though it never seemed to be there or obscure my vision in the first place, almost as though I had to imagine it was there in order to see it at all. I turned to George and he and his buddies were watching intently. I approached the misty cloud of faint light and walked slowly towards it.
“Uh oh,” I heard George say behind me. Then I heard the flap of wings. A few paces in front of me was the place I could cross over into the world of the living, but I could not resist: I looked over my shoulder, only to see a falling shaft of darkness form down from the black sun above. It had to be Bossman trying to catch me! I sprang forward to close the distance and I heard a dunff noise and felt a cold hand wrap around the back of my neck just as I crossed into the misty cloud, falling forward onto the grave dirt of another unknown soldier at the edge of the cemetery.
I did not feel the cold hand on my neck, and I was suddenly catching my breath. Fear made me sweat and my eyes cried though I did not know why. Looking around, I spotted the silhouettes of three vultures high above me, circling.
I felt that I needed to hide from Bossman, if it really had been him, which I strongly suspected. I shuffled to a boulder outcrop a few paces away and laid down behind a boulder just in time to watch the many-limbed dark figure cross onto this side of the world. We had definitely spotted each other, but in my hope of hopes, I laid down in the dirt, hoping I had only imagined his evil gaze meeting mine.
“A-ha! Found you!” I recognized his foul demon voice, but I dared not look.
When I did look up, my face was a foot away from his. “Well, fuck,” I told him. “Did not think you would find me so easily.”
He smirked and shrugged, his facial features merely shadows upon darkness. “You were more resourceful than I thought you would be, but it’s time you paid your debt.”
“Can we talk about this, Mister Bossman? Surely there’s an arrangement that suits us both,” I attempted.
“There IS an arrangement that suits us both: you do the work you are bound to do, and we won’t have so many issues. You already messed up your first mission, now I gotta send you on the second mission I had in mind for you.”
“Oh, so these are time-sensitive things I’m supposed to do?” I asked, pretending to be dumber than I usually was.
“Yesss...” he hissed, angry spittles of nothing flying in front of his face.
“But... you can cross over here as well, so why not do the work yourself?”
“It’s not particularly pleasant to be here on this side, but yes I had to do the work myself this time.” Bossman looked dangerously average on this side of things. His limbs were limited to two arms and two legs here. His face, his whole silhouette, was a shadow cast upon reality, like an otherworldly creature spending time in the real world. He moved closer. His speed also seemed limited here... Perhaps all of its powers were.
“Come here, Bill,” he spit out. I dared not approach him, but held my hands up in front of me as a sign he should stay back. He continued his approach and I slowly backed away. Suddenly, he lunged forward and his left arm had elongated about three feet so he could grab my throat and squeeze hard. He stepped closer, holding me in place, freezing my legs from running away on their own. He held his right hand above his head and I could see his fingers shifting strangely, unnaturally, forming a red sigil in the palm of his right hand. He then applied his red right hand upon my left shoulder, and I felt his brand burn me through my clothes. He laughed and my head hurt with a sudden and intense migraine. I screamed in pain while his laugh echoed in my head forever. That’s when I lost consciousness.
Chapter Four
Bossman is Always Right
I had the vague idea of a nightmare haunting my sleep, when I suddenly sat up in front of a tombstone. This felt very much like a whole other cemetery than the one from Fort Quitter. This cemetery was gloomy with the swirling misty light of the world before dawn or before dusk and everything here was oddly quiet. I looked around and saw that we were still on the living side of the world. I spotted a couple, holding each other’s arm, quite a bit away marching between rows of stones and wood crosses. It was dusk and the sun was setting with its quiet magnificence, shrouding itself in colorful skies. Bossman, the entity, whatever it was, stood ahead of me, perhaps ten paces away. Its darkness was framed majestically by the oranges, pinks and purples of the sunset spectacle. At first I thought it was looking at me, but it was actually watching the beauty of the land, appreciating its changing colors, so drastically different than the drab greys, light or dark, of the Mirror’s Edge.
My head hurt, and my left shoulder was stinging me, from the burning skin on the surface to a dull pain deep into the muscle. Yet, pain was easy to ignore and hindered me little. One of the perks of being dead, I supposed. I stretched my body.
“Welcome to El Paso, Bill.” His voice was like a malevolent whisper echoing in the back of my skull.
“Thank you for the quiet ride, Mister Bossman,” I replied, grunting as I got up, testing my joints and finding my body’s inner strength. He was starting to make me angry again.
“Bossman. Hmm. I like that.” He continued speaking in whispers in my head, which I did not particularly enjoy.
“Yeah, yeah... Your type always does,” I retorted with a bit of snark.
He finally turned to me and in two movements of his unnatural limbs, he was upon me, his left hand on my chest. “Be careful what you say and be careful what you do around here.” I knew better than to talk back to him at this point, but the anger rose inside me nonetheless. He continued, using his proper voice rather than the mind whispers: “I have some explaining to do: you have business here in El Paso and it cannot wait overly long, so let’s get moving.” He used his real life voice to speak this time. It was deep and less of a hiss than his whispers were. He let go of my chest and explained a series of things to me. Why I had been chosen, what it was that I was meant to do in the world of the living, and most of all, how I would continue to serve him and his phalanx for the next foreseeable future. It turned out he had more than some explaining to do. He went on and on as we walked out of the cemetery and eventually sat in a copse of trees near a dirt trail at the edge of town.
Things had grown quiet and cold, but again, my body reported the temperature without hindering my movement or comfort. My body felt pain and comfort the same way, that is to say, it was little more than information at this point. It felt strange and otherworldly in a sense, but it also felt natural to distance myself from this rolling carcass of mine. I wondered if I was starting to feel too much like a spirit or a ghost. Oops, I realized I was letting Bossman drag on and stopped listening a while back. I thought he could tell, because he repeated himself.
“You got that? You understand what’s at stake here?” Bossman asked, his silhouette now decidedly human in the darkness of dusk. The sun had set and left trails of light where the clouds still lingered in the west, the heavens above hinting at a starry sky like no other.
“Yeah, Bossman, I got it! I just gotta get me some guns, get in there and shoot up the place, leave none alive... It’s not complicated when you keep things so simple for a little dummy like myself,” I started. “Now, what about that first job I signed up for? I still got letters to deliver to those two sweet widows in Santa Fe.” I padded the letters in my pocket to make sure they were still there. He leaned in and sniffed the letters. What a creep! I dared not even shudder at his strangeness.
“You can take care of whatever you like after the chapel job’s done. Either way, I’ll be in touch for your future tasks, and there will be plenty of those to keep you occupied.” He chuckled in a low voice that sent shivers down my spine and tingled pain into my shoulder where he had branded me.
Branding was the next level from being shackled, according to him. With the mark on my shoulder, he could now tell where I was anytime he liked, and best of all, well for him, he could transport himself to me, or even tell me things from a distance with some effort on his part. I was not a fan of being his existentially-impaired cattle, implied servitude or not, this suited me none and I made sure to let him know. When I protested as to the state of things, he just chuckled and said nothing more. Whenever I asked why, he would simply reply, “Because you earned it.”
“So like you said, once I’m done with this little mission, I got some me time before the next task you have for me.”
“Yes. And the next task will take you to the pallid deserts of New Mexico.”
“Never heard of those, but I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding the exact location based on your detailed description,” I retorted smartly. I could not help the sarcasm muscles in my tongue from tangling my speech with snark. He seemed less and less amused, his chuckling turning to what I could only assume was a silent, deadly black glare. It was all guesswork on my end, mind you, because his face was practically inscrutable, blinding darkness. I could not even see the silhouette of a nose or the glow of an eye within the dense cloud of black smoke that protected me from seeing his face with my own eyes. That was probably for the best, or so I told myself.
I heard a whoosh and I turned around to see, but he was just gone. Left to my own devices, I took a few minutes to myself, enjoying the cooling earth in El Paso’s bone orchard. I sighed and watched the landscape. The light of the sky grew darker and darker. I dusted myself off as best as I could, fixing the flesh around my joints to ensure it did not bundle itself in weird ways. I had to reconcile the fact that my muscles and joints were weirdly malleable and I felt I had to be careful in order to preserve my body as long as possible. I thought back on the decayed folks at the bury yard in Fort Davidson. Many of these folks were missing bits here and there, some had oddly colored skin, bruised or rotting or what have you. After I felt I could pass as an average fellow, I walked down to the markets and shops, hoping to finally dress myself the way I had been before my incarceration and summary execution. That is to say: I was finally getting a nice new black hat, new guns, and maybe some other new things since I had so much cash burning in my pocket.
I spent the evening improving my lot in life, one garment at a time, and by midnight I was having a rowdy good time in one of the local saloons, drinking cheap booze, enjoying the weight of my new pair of revolvers at my belt, tipping my brand new hat to the pretty ladies who filled the saloon hall with laughter and sweet perfume. I gambled some, but found my luck was nearly nonexistent so I gave up on losing money quite quickly. I had not even made a dent into my fat stack of savings with these latest purchases, although buying a good horse come morning would definitely see my stash diminishing a bit. I was pondering things, enjoying the company of the dancehall girls in my lap, staring off into the empty glasses of whiskey that were lining up the counter in front of me. Life, or whatever this was, could be good to me after all!
~~~~~
A few hours later I was tied up in the bedroom I rented from the saloon. The two lovely dancehall girls who doted on me had suggested this little game of tying me up so they could take advantage of me, which sounded quite delightful at the time, so I had allowed them to bind me with some silk tassels and soft rope. It was not any kind of heavy binding so I was not worried.
It sounded fun and while it was not my first bedroom rodeo, it was my first time with two girls at the same time so my head was not quite screwed on straight. I let them do those things to me, making myself vulnerable enough to them, one way or another. They kissed me and were quite playful for a time, until they turned on me.
I was not thinking correctly just then, especially when I realized they were rummaging through my pants, which might have sounded delightful, but my pants had been discarded almost an hour ago. I leaned and saw them on the floor trying to get a hold of the treasure my pockets held. I started to feel quite angry at the sudden turning of my predicament: one moment they were cooing little doves making my dreams come true, and next they were coveting vultures ripping the seams of my pockets to grab my big wad of cash papers!
I suddenly felt a cold sweat and the hair on the back of my neck pulled away. I sensed something was wrong in a way I could only intuit. I knew nothing, so I looked around, hoping to notice what my instinct was trying to warn me about. The girls thought I was still asleep after our little bedroom adventures. Little did they know that I was paranoid like no other and would be dealing with them quickly enough.
It turned out that my intuition was warning me about my own strength and power. With my anger building in my limbs, I tore through the silken ribbons and ropes with ease and the two of them looked terrified when I suddenly stood over them, stepping on my pants and grabbing each of them by the throat, the torn tassels dangling from my wrists. I felt powerful in that moment and that was the scariest thing to me just then. I knew I could kill them with a snap of their neck, a twist of my wrists. I felt my fingers squeeze them a little too hard and their eyes immediately pleaded for me to stop, tears pouring down their reddening eyes. I squeezed until their throats squeaked like a couple of mice suddenly trapped under too much pressure. I released them just as suddenly and they immediately cried that they were sorry, holding their pained necks and backing away from me as though I were a monster. Their eyes were huge, tearing up, looking afright and I thought they might scream out of fear, but they held quiet.
They were very scared of me, as though I was some ruffian who had taken advantage of them, when in fact it was them who were willing to humiliate me and steal from me. I still felt that my anger could take me over and what frightened ME was that I felt fully capable of killing them both. I thought it might be best for me to hightail it out of there instead. I dressed myself without another word and paid them their fee, throwing a few bills at their feet. Saying no more, I left the saloon and they did not try to stop me.
~~~~~
I spent the rest of the dark hours before morn strolling the dusty ways of El Paso, making my way to the chapel. I know that Bossman had told me what time the ceremony was to be interrupted, and the wedding massacre was to begin, but the truth is that I seldomly listened to Bossman all the way, so I figured I’d keep an eye on things from a distance and step in when the moment was right. I told myself the timing would not matter as long as I played my part and killed a lot of innocent people.
I found a nice little group of brambling weeds and small growth trees where the shadows would hide me from sight. I was in a foul mood, which would certainly make the job of killing a bunch of common folks easier for me. My anger was a powerful ally, I decided, and I would have to make the most of it. I played with my new guns, spinning them this way and that, practicing with the already familiar weight. With these guns, my new boots, new hat, new clothes, I felt like a proper man again. I even bought a scarf to cover my neck, which still had distorted flesh from my rope hanging experience.
After a few hours of spying, I started to feel quite bored. But this was a job so I needed to focus. The way I figured, I would do Bossman’s bidding until either I could take him on, or I could disappear for good. It was clear to me that his power was greater while on the Mirror’s Edge, and weaker (though still very impressive) while on the Land of the Living side of things. Perhaps my guns were enough to take him down, but somehow I knew they would not be.
Waiting was not that big of a deal for me. I did not feel any kind of exhaustion or felt the need to sleep. In fact, I had not slept since my hanging on All Hallow’s Eve, except the time between Fort Quitter and El Paso, when Bossman messed with me and knocked me out. I was not even sure how much time had passed since my hanging, but I figured it could only have been a matter of days. I tried to remember the phase of the moon but could not recall particularly well. No matter, time was as it was and it passed as it passed. It was not for me to keep track.
Finally, after several hours of a beautiful sunrise, I noticed the increasing activity at the chapel. Half a dozen folks had started to gather in front of the chapel, chatting and making preparations of some kind. I did not see an obvious bride or anything of the sort, just a few humble folks dressed at their best. I waited another while and a dozen guests were lined up to go sit inside the chapel. Soon enough I would be waltzing in and taking my anger out on a lot of people in there, only I did not feel particularly good about doing that for Bossman.
These people were not ruffians deserving of violence. They were not greedy dancers taking advantage of a big payday that wasn’t theirs. They were not overbearing bosses barking orders and demands... But Bossman needed the job done and that was that. I did not want to go do it or go through with the plan. I would much rather buy me a couple horses and head to Santa Fe by my lonesome. But no matter what, Bossman would be on my tail, pissed off again and taking things out on me. I sighed, rolled the wheels on the guns and set them in their holsters, then I moved my boots forward until I could step up and look at the shadowed hall of love I would soon disrupt.
A sweet older woman approached and asked if I was a friend of the groom. She had greying lines streaking her smoothed out hair leading to a silver bun. She reminded me of my great aunt just a bit. I smirked and just nodded, tipping my hat, trying to guess if I was supposed to sit with the folks on the right or the left of the aisle. Only, she just stood there until I murmured, “Here for the groom.”
She smiled and explained with a pinch of embarrassment, “Well, sir, there’s been a little change of plans, the ceremony has been postponed a bit, but please sit with us and I’ll tell you about what’s going on.” I stood there and waited, nodding for her to continue. “You see, it seems the wild at heart cannot be tamed and our sweet lovers have eloped away from El Paso, so we’re just here to celebrate their love and union, but they’ll be married proper when they return! Would you like some pie? The groom’s mother also made tamales if you’d like...” I noticed a small wooden table was set aside near the doors where a few dishes were being served.
The shadows parted inside the chapel and my eyes adapted enough for me to see that the good folks of El Paso were celebrating this union from a distance. I walked over to the foodstuffs and grabbed a tamale. Halfway through eating the thing, I asked the lady, “So why’s it they eloped? Typically folks elope to attend their wedding, not to avoid it...”
“Oh, I absolutely agree, sir! I’m just grateful it’s not a scandal, though I’m not entirely sure as to the groom and bride’s absences.”
I simply replied, “hmmm,” and stuffed the rest of the tamale in my mouth. I was not even hungry, but tamales are hard for me to resist. I turned my back and walked out, leaning against the wall of the chapel, wondering what in the hell I was actually expected to do. I was under the impression that I was expected to shoot up the place in order to prevent this wedding from taking place, but I could not quite recall all the details involved. Should I just wait and see? Should I start shooting these good folks now?
“Another tamale, señor?” It was the groom’s mother, I presumed, who offered me another meal. I nodded and she smiled cheerfully and handed me a second tamale. Sigh. I ate the tamale, cussing Bossman in my head for putting me up to this. I wondered if he could hear me think poorly of him...
Perhaps their deaths were part of a large master plan of fate I was not privy to, but to me it looked like killing good folks for no damn reason. That made Bossman a devil and me no better than a mindless goon. I ate the tamale, feeling my anger for Bossman rise inside me. I was not sure I could tame that anger, nor could I unleash it on these folks.
Now don’t get me wrong, in life I did not like to kill average folks, but it did happen a time or two and I only felt remorse a bit later, and even then the remorse was not bad. Sometimes people are just there at the wrong place and wrong time and when they seen too much, it fell to me to silence them for the sake of our gang. But I was not protecting a gang of buffoons anymore. I was serving some evil entity or other and perhaps it was for the best that the bride and groom did not make it to their own wedding. If I had seen them quietly sat in the chapel, with the padre tossing vows at the unsuspecting lovers, I might have shot the place up out of spite. But now... I made the mistake of overthinking it. Made the mistake of looking too closely at their happy faces. Made the mistake of making them human in my monstrous eyes. And damn, those were good tamales, too.
But still! I was the specter of death now more than ever. I was Bossman’s hand in this possibly righteous fury. Oh, who am I kidding. I could not do it. What was it about being dead that made me second guess taking other lives? If anything it should have come easier than before. Perhaps it was because I felt more confused about what goes on after death. When I was alive, I believed all the stories, and after a few years of misdeeds I truly believed I would end up in hell! But what was true for me may not be true for others. Why did Bossman need this wedding party wiped out? Did he explain that part to me? I wracked my brain for details I overheard when I was barely listening to him.
I decided then I would rather take another beating for foiling Bossman’s plans than go through with this particular bit. I even felt renewed remorse for the folks I killed before crossing over. I thought of the Marshal who signed my arrest and execution papers, wondering why he had twisted the law and how it had served him. The way I figured, he benefitted from my death in a few ways, mostly because he pinned murders and thievery that weren’t mine. If anybody deserved my bullets, it was that man. Oh how I would love to go after him and find him alone on a nice desert patch of sunset beauty... There’s nothing like a good revenge killing.
Looking over the crowd at the chapel, these people were not my targets. I vowed revenge against the corrupted Marshall, and Bossman himself. I would hunt them down and kill them... somehow. And so I walked away from the El Paso chapel, botching my second job. I patted the letters in my pocket and told myself, the third job’s the charm.
An hour later, I had purchased fresh horses for the journey to Santa Fe. I left El Paso behind me, riding the trail north to New Mexico. Without needing to feed myself, I only had to worry about my mares: Hilda and Walnut. Both seemed to have a temperament when they first smelled me, but I handled them like any man who knew how, so they fell in line and obeyed my commands, almost reflexively. I wondered if they could sense my state of undeath and if they would take off the first chance they got. I hoped not, but I handled them both very carefully, just in case.
Chapter Five
Santa Fe Widows: Letter for Mrs. Schultz
The trek from El Paso to Santa Fe was unfortunately rather boring. If you recall I had lost my vulture buddy, George, somewhere around Fort Quitter when Bossman had caught up with me, and the trek without a flying scout took time. I tried to travel through day and night, but while I felt tireless, the horses needed rest from time to time. They also tended to spook easily at night, so for their sake I rested, spending time exploring my thoughts and worries, letting the concerns churn over in my mind forever and ever until the horses felt fresh again some time before dawn each day.
Several times I saw coyotes crossing paths, chasing rabbits and other small critters. Each time I spotted a coyote, I paused my horses to see what the creature would do. They usually looked back at me for a bit, observing me and my mares, then they decided we were not worth the trouble, and they moved along, away from us and I resumed our trek. I was at peace with nature since living nature wanted nothing to do with me. I was surprised how well my mares were managing themselves around me. I wondered what it was they sensed.
Then I thought back on the interactions with people since crossing over from The Edge. Folks did not seem to care much about me regardless, unless I was a paying customer, then they stopped looking at me as a person, dead or alive, and just saw my dollar bills and the opportunity for their own wealth. How accommodating the shopkeeps were once I told them I was buying. They did not care that my skin bunched up in funny ways around my joints, especially the distorted flesh around my neck from the hanging. They probably thought I was unfortunate looking, but my cash was just as good as anyone else’s, after all.
A few times over the course of days, I crossed paths with other people while on the trail. The winds were cold and bothered me none, but I could see families or posses bundling up with ponchos and colorful trail blankets. Whenever I would spot people up ahead, I would speed up the horses and try to overtake them swiftly, even if it meant tiring out Walnut, then switching over to Hilda, or the other way around. My thought was that either they were heading in my direction and I wanted to pass them as quickly as possible, or they were heading south and I would look as though I was in a big hurry. I pulled up my scarf to cover my neck and kept my hat low on my brow to hide my face a little. I figured most folks would think I was some desperado and preferred to steer clear of me, which suited me just fine. I just tipped my hat as I passed them by. Sometimes a family clan, sometimes ranchers in between jobs, sometimes a group of twenty men who would make for the most dangerous encounters. What if they were a posse hunting down some outlaw who may have looked like me? I might have been unlucky like that, but they also steered clear of me. I still tipped my hat.
Only once did such a posse call out to me to stop for some words. I told them I was in a hurry to deliver letters to two sweet widows in Santa Fe. They chuckled and asked me for the widows’ names, so I took the letters out and read the front. Mrs. Schultz and Mrs. Winters, I called out. A man in a brown coat said they were looking for miscreants and asked for my name, so I gave it to him and where I was born (William Morrison, Louisville). That seemed to satisfy him and the rest offered tobacco and other trades. I said I would have nothing to trade until I made it to Santa Fe, fearing they might take me for my money if I revealed any of it. They wished me well, I wished them well, and me and my mares passed them by without more trouble than that. After that, I rode like hell for a good half hour to put distance just in case any of their posse decided to double back and follow me.
After that half hour, I switched mares and rode another half an hour at a decent gallop, then finally gave my horses their rest. They liked being pushed in this manner, having their abilities challenged and tested like that, at least I told myself this, but it was important to know what they were capable of if I really needed to push them to their limits and beyond. This was a good test of their endurance and their personality under pressure. They were great mares and I felt happy with the price I haggled for them.
The whole trek with the pair of them made me think of the dream of settling down with a humble horse ranch (a lot like Pa’s dream, now that I think of it). It reminded me of the first outlaw gig I took part in, and how Ol’ Red asked what I would do with “all that money”. I told him I wanted to have my own ranch and be a frontier baron somewheres. Of course, we were under the impression that there was money in being an outlaw and Ol’ Red sure knew how to drum up those feelings, but don’t be fooled, there’s no good money in it, at least none that’s worth the trouble.
I knew the landmarks to follow along and when we were closer to Santa Fe, I decided to ride them through the night so that I could arrive before dawn. I already decided that I would watch the city before making my way into its streets, and figured I would be spending the day at the cemetery as a good prospect. There seemed to be a sort of holy peace in the cemeteries of the world, and in my current state of unlife it felt comforting in a way I cannot describe to you, the living. It is almost as though death is the discarding of burdens from life, comforting, forgiving, endless time for repose, without pain or pleasure, just a single state of unbeing which turned out to be quite pleasant.
Nonetheless, I observed the paths leading in and out of town, making a long way around until I found the old cemetery. This place was bustling and teeming with life, especially in comparison to what I had seen of the frontier in recent days. I meant the city of Santa Fe, not the cemetery, which was quiet and lonesome. It was still night when I got off Hilda and walked her and Walnut through the older graves. I tethered them and laid down for a while, wondering if Bossman would catch up to me before I had a chance to deliver the letters. I looked up at the stars. The night’s sky made for a lovely show while my noggin worked overtime plotting my future as a mailman from beyond the grave.
I thought long and hard about what I could do regarding Bossman’s tasks and how to handle him. I really wished I could reconnect with my vulture buddy George, as he might have some insight on the entity and how to deal with my predicament. For now I would continue to avoid him. If he caught up with me, it surely meant a proper beating, perhaps another brand. I dared to pull my shirt aside to look at the Bossman brand that was still stinging my flesh. It looked like a Sun with many branches of light on the edges of the burn circle. It also sort of looked like a butthole, or a wound that healed badly. I sighed and covered it back up.
With the light of dawn hinting at the start of the day, I decided that was enough rest and I looked at the letters, which had the names of the widows and their relative addresses. I saddled up the horses and dusted my clothes as best as I could, then rode back into town from the Northeast, where the bramble around the old cemetery had made for a nice little refuge for my mares and I.
On the way out of the cemetery, I spotted a kid of maybe 8 or 9 years poking some coyote scat with a stick. The scat still had rabbit fur in it. I asked the kid if he knew the streets I read from the letters, and he answered positively, then proceeded to give me vague directions. I thanked him, even tipped my hat. The boy returned to his furry shit and I rode away.
Santa Fe had a special smell I could not describe to you. You would know it if you ever went there. I enjoyed having a nose for most of it, especially the streets with food vendors and spice stalls. I meandered towards the plaza for a time, mixing in with the few people out this early, mostly vendors and workmen. The weather was still cold and my limbs were stiff. I decided I would buy a nice poncho once I was done with my tasks. The cold did not affect my senses, but I did feel more sluggish due to the cold wind gusts. Just as the kid instructed, I turned right and made my way to the adobe cottage where Mrs. Schultz resided.
It was a fairly average but humble building with an enclosed garden. I made my way to the back alley and tied my mares to a post connecting the garden. I could spot some light coming from the window. I walked through the back garden and knocked on the kitchen door, hearing quick rummaging and shooshing sounds coming from within. Curious, I leaned towards the window and came face to face with the woman, who looked quite surprised. She immediately ducked so that I could not see her. I took her letter out of my pocket and tapped the window.
“Mrs. Schultz? I have a letter for you, ma’am!” I announced loudly, because for all I knew she was reaching for her trusty shotgun. I heard a latch being played with and the kitchen door opened. I saw her, pretty in her own way, with blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair, looking distraught or worried by my arrival more than relieved to receive the letter.
“Who’s it from?” she asked with a strong accent typical for German immigrants. She was wearing a matronly dress, the style much too old-fashioned for a pretty young widow like herself; and behind her apron, she was barely hiding the curiosity of the two young children behind her: a boy and a girl who looked about 4 and 5.
“Ahem, I believe from your husband’s um... former associates...?” I replied. After a pause, I added, “If you could read it and give me any sort of reply you would like me to pass to the sender, that would be swell. I am not privy as to what the letter says, ma’am, but I was told to expect a response.”
“Alright. Please come inside.” She moved out of the way and allowed me into her kitchen where she had me sit at the table where she had been preparing ingredients for a proper bean and corn stew. I handed her the letter, holding it a moment longer than I meant to as our eyes locked and I could read the sorrow in her eyes. I wondered how her husband died. She sent her children to another room and she sat at the kitchen table too, opening the letter with a large knife, making a point to set the knife down next to her for easy reach.
She read the letter carefully, twice, her cold blue eyes tearing up, the white of the eyes forming red stains at the edges, as if pained by what they discovered within the words. She offered to make me coffee while I waited for a response to the letter. I accepted and watched her prepare it. I could tell that she was deep in thought. I was dying to know what this was all about. Best paying job of my career and I played the part of a discrete posthumous postman. She placed a cup of hot coffee in front of me, and she served herself a cup as well, using a porcelain tea set. She excused herself, saying she would prepare her response.
I had assumed the letter was from her actual husband, sending words from beyond the grave, but my assumptions were shaken when she returned with a pair of well-fashioned guns. The pair strongly resembled the ubiquitous navy revolvers though they looked engraved and customized. The metal finish was blacker than my hat, with an attractive blue tinge when it caught the light. She pointed both guns at me, looking straight into my eyes.
“Were they your husband’s?” I asked, not letting her see fear in my eyes.
Looking straight into my eyes, she nodded and tears filled her eyes again, a few drops sprinkling her apron. She said, “Yes, he used these to kill dangerous men.”
I made no movement towards my guns and replied, “If you have a message for me to give to the sender, I would prefer you do it without riddling me with bullets beforehand. It will be a lot easier on the both of us.” She looked very upset, but her grip was steady and both barrels pointed at my chest. “I assure you I am just a messenger and I have never met your husband before, but if you shoot me now, I will have to retaliate.”
“I can shoot you before you can touch your guns, mister.” She shook the tears out of her eyes and all that was left was red veins at the edges of the blue. Her anger brewed faster than the coffee had, I thought.
“Oh, you can shoot me faster than I can shoot you... That, I’m quite sure of. If you pull the triggers, you will leave two holes in my chest, or perhaps two in my skull, maybe more if you have good aim... But the bullets will not kill me.”
“These guns can kill things like you, mister.”
With that statement she had me worried, like she knew just what kind of creature I was, that is to say, a revenant who should be put back in the grave. “Look, ma’am, I did not come here for trouble. I have no attachment to my current employer and would prefer to keep my body as intact as possible. If you have a message that does not require bullets, I am happy to pass it along.” I tried my best to remain calm, but the skinny widow’s determination scared the hell out of me. “Care to tell me what this is all about?”
There came the faucet of tears running down her cheeks. She did not seem like a desperate woman, but she looked the part now, setting the pair of guns down on the kitchen table, amid half-peeled potatoes, carrots and onions, then quickly covering her face with her hands.
I stood up and she took a half-step back, I lifted both of my hands to show her I was not reaching for my guns, then held out my hands, gesturing as if to offer a shoulder to cry on. And just like that, the widow hugged me and cried on my shoulder for what felt like forever, speaking German to me as though I could understand a lick of it. And as I consoled her, I nodded and patted her back, giving this woman the only comfort she had experienced in who knew how long.
After a while, she sighed and pulled back, apologizing to me, in English this time.
“Mrs Shultz, thank you for the hot coffee. Really, I mean that.” I said in a deep, stern voice. “Are the guns part of the message or did you wish to resume our standoff?”
“They were all I have left of my husband. And the letter asks for them...”
“Ah, I see... What about the children? Are they not his?”
She shook her head. “Another widow’s children. When she died of the fever last year, she left them and the house to me.”
“If you could tell your husband anything, what would it be?”
“Please come back... I miss you and I cannot live this life without you.”
Her sincerity made my dead eyes tear up a bit and I wiped my face discreetly, though there was no hiding it. It must have been the chopped onions. I told her so and she laughed, her tears doubling down on covering the upper portion of her white apron. Her laugh made her sort of prettier for it and she wiped her tears away. I felt the urge to help her and give her advice but restrained myself from doing so. I had enough troubles on my plate, but I thought I might check on her if my boots took me to Santa Fe again in the future.
I sat back down at the kitchen table and gestured to the guns inquisitively. She sat down too and drank her coffee, quickly sipping it, then going into a long explanation of her and her husband’s history, and the significance of the revolvers, while I drank another cup of coffee. She did not allude to the exact contents of the letter but inferred that she was hoping to hold on to her husband’s keepsake.
He had been a talented gunsmith and the pair of guns was his prized possessions: too nice to take to war, so he had left them with his wife, Mrs Schultz. Only the guns had special properties. Secret carvings, hidden symbols. She explained all of this as I picked up the guns myself, looking for the hints as to what was special about the well-machined barrels and parts. Upon closer inspection, they did look custom made. I asked her if she meant what she said about the black guns being able to kill “things like me.” She looked embarrassed about my bringing it up, but she confirmed that she knew what I was and she knew these guns could kill me dead, for good. She even claimed they were blessed by holy men and that the metal had been quenched with holy water and blessed oils, whatever that would really do. I wrapped the guns using one of the widow’s clean kitchen cloths as she did not have a box or holsters for them.
I was doubtful as to their efficacy against unnatural beings, but she was so convinced of it, I wondered if they would do damage to the likes of Bossman, or Samuel for that matter (the man who gave me the messenger job). It was not until after I left and checked the guns that I noticed they were not even loaded. I smiled to myself thinking of the trick she pulled, but wondered what she would have done if I had tried to shoot her. I was riding Walnut on my way to the other widow’s estate when I finally realized that she had pulled the guns on me so that I would kill her. I felt even more sorry for the woman. Widowed and raising another woman’s orphans. Still, she had her little adobe cottage. I promised myself I would inquire as to her affairs next time I could talk to Samuel after the job was done.
Chapter Six (coming soon)
Santa Fe Widows: Letter for Mrs. Winters
Mrs. Winters’ estate was in a wealthy district of territorial residences. Her domicile was an imposing adobe mansion, two stories with a terrace, surrounded by well-trimmed trees and bushes of local and rare varieties. I noticed men-at-arms smoking small cigars, blowing out the type of smoke that could make a head spin if you know what I mean. The wrought-iron fence prevented me from getting closer so I called out to them, explaining I had a letter to deliver by hand. They asked to see the letter and I held it out from the street side of the fence so they could see the name and address. I pocketed the letter again, to let them know I was serious about delivering it by hand. The younger man went inside while the other quickly dragged on his skunky cigarillo as he regarded me suspiciously, doing his best to judge my true intentions. I swung my leg over and got off of Walnut, pulling my mares a bit away from the gates while we waited.
“Where does the letter hail from?” The man asked, his thumb coolly placed at his belt, the gleaming handle of his revolver deliberately showing.
“That’s the widow’s business, sir,” I replied firmly.
“Fair enough,” he said, and finished the cigarillo then flicked it out of the gates. The winds had picked up in gusts and cloud cover took away the bit of warmth that was left in the air. The man pulled his collar up a bit and I copied him to appear more human, even though the cold did not bother me much, other than stiffening and slowing my limbs a bit.
Moments later, the other man returned and they opened the gates together. I led my mares inside the sprawling courtyard and an attendant of maybe sixteen took the reins and tied them to a post fashioned for such a thing. I was led around to a parlor connected to the garden. In the parlor was the widow, and she was already reading and writing letters of her own, with several pages organized in piles on a low-lying table with ornate feet. She looked up from behind her elegant round glasses and smiled as though we were already friends. I smiled back and took my hat off, fixing my hair.
“So you’re my husband’s messenger?” She inquired, her voice high and chipper. She was a truly lovely-looking creature. I don’t mean to be lecherous in my description, but she was tremendously well-shaped, with curves popping out at attractive angles in spite of her dress style, and she had a neckline to make an actress jealous. Her dark red hair fell in small curls around her face though most of it was hidden in a fancy bonnet made of black velvet. She was also richly-dressed with very dark overtones hinting that she was still very much in mourning, though her demeanor was not one of deep sorrow. On the contrary, she seemed overly energetic to me for one who may be expected to mope around missing her dead husband.
I stood across from the low table and I leaned in to pinch her hand politely. Her thin hand felt warm to my touch and she quickly looked away rather than meet my gaze. I handed her the promised letter. She asked me to sit, so I sat on a cushioned bench across from the table. From there I could smell her rosy perfumes. I felt instantly delighted to be in her presence and hoped I looked comely enough to impose her parlor with my own. I imagined I did not smell very good in comparison considering my recent travels, but she provided no hints that my personal smells bothered her.
She sat back quietly and opened the letter with a gold opener, small and sharp. She read the letter, several pages of it, in front of me while I sat there patiently, looking around the parlor, noticing the various collected objets-d’art and fanciful belongings. There was a lot to take in and she took her time reading the letter.
“Are you expecting a reply right away?” she inquired politely, her large green eyes looking straight into mine own, causing me to wonder whether or not I could blush.
“Indeed, I was hoping to conclude my post delivery business today,” I replied politely. She nodded curtly and excused herself, promising to be back in a short while. I wondered if she would also come back with a pair of guns, and if Lady Winters would load the guns before threatening me, unlike Lady Schultz who had kept the chambers empty when she was testing my patience. So I sat there in the fanciest parlor I had ever been admitted to. My eyes wandered to the letters she was writing and after a little while deciphering her handwriting, it seemed as though she was working on a story, memoirs perhaps, rather than letters, though she had stacks of written letters as well in a corner of the low table. What a busy woman she must be, I thought to myself.
I became bored and stood up, looking around and outside in the courtyard. The young attendant was brushing my horses, finishing up with Walnut and moving to Hilda next. Good kid. I watched him work on feeding the horses for a bit when Mrs. Winters returned to the parlor. She was followed by a servant girl carrying tea and bakies. The servant girl took the stack of letters and set them aside, then she placed the teatime tray down on the table among the stacks of other pages. It seemed to me like Widow Winters and I were good friends catching up and I found it bizarre and delightful all the same.
When the servant left, the gorgeous redhead asked me, “Are you a trustworthy man, Mister Bill?”
I was taken aback as I had not introduced myself by name. I considered my response then said, “I can certainly be trustworthy for the right price. Can you be trusted, Mrs. Winters?”
She smiled. She knew she had me. “I wish I knew your family name. It isn’t proper for me to call you by your Christian name considering that we are not well acquainted just yet.”
“My name is William Hitchens, ma’am,” I told her as I grabbed the teapot and served us as skillfully as I could manage. I was not used to the fineries of my situation, but I could pour liquor from a bottle just fine and this was not so different. We continued to exchange pleasantries until she got back on track.
After taking a few sips, she said, “Well, Mr. Hitchens, I have additional work for you, if you’re going to be in town for a little while, and if you can deliver things across a special kind of border.” I looked in her eyes just then and I thought she definitely meant crossing over to the land of the dead ones, the Mirror’s Edge. She looked back at me, knowing I knew.
“I believe I catch your meaning, Mrs. Winters. I may have some commitments to tend to in the region if that helps, although I would much rather be in your employ, if I may be so bold.”
She made a quick show of blushing, out of politeness I assumed, as she crunched on the sweet baked goods on the tray. After a sip of tea to clear her throat, she continued, “The pay should be comparable to what you’re being paid now. The contents should fit in a pair of saddlebags, which I can provide.”
“What kinds of goods would I be moving across this special border?”
“Nothing that would trouble your eyes or your soul, I assure you. Mostly liquid spirits and objects of emotional value to folks who may be long lost. Perhaps a pair of revolvers recently acquired?” I paused, sipped and nodded to confirm I had the guns. How did she know about all of this? I quickly guessed that the letter she received must have told her about it, which likely meant she was part of Samuel’s plans for the guns. I did find it interesting that at no point was Samuel specific as to which widow should receive their respective letter first. She finished her tea and continued, “That’s wonderful, I trust this will be a positive arrangement for the both of us. I will have a reply letter to work on and send you out with, though I suspect you must be a bit weary from your travels and it may wait until the morrow? Would it be... suitable for you to take a room in the guest quarters?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, Mrs. Winters. I’m quite partial to loud saloon bedrooms or quiet corners at the cemetery, whichever suits my mood at the time.” I set my tea cup down and munched on some of the powdered bakies.
She looked disappointed, “I see. If you change your mind, do not hesitate to say so. Moving on: I owe you a reply letter and will have it ready by sundown, if you care to stay until then.”
“Certainly, though I shall not impose your parlor. I was not made for these fancy things and will be happy to wait outside. The cold does not bother me much.”
“That’s sweet of you to suggest that, but I assure you it’s no trouble at all for you to enjoy this space for the time being.”
“Fair enough,” I replied. “I will stay as madam suggests.”
“What do you know about the man who employed you to deliver these letters?” she asked without hesitation.
I hesitated, on the other hand, replying with the intent to remain vague, “I know he is an affluent man named Samuel. Handsome enough, well-dressed.”
“Will you be seeing him again?” she continued her line of questioning.
I hesitated again. I thought about grabbing the teacup again just to give me time to think. Instead, I decided to just be honest with her, to see what she would do and say. Perhaps I could glean something out of her reaction. “I am to meet his associate with your reply letter here in town, but my understanding is that it will not be Samuel himself.”
“I see. When are you meeting Samuel’s associate?” She kept her cards close to the chest and I could not read her well. The gusts of wind intensified outside, distracting me further.
“I’m not sure there’s a time specified, only a place. I am hoping to head there this evening to conclude my current business with Samuel and collect the rest of my pay. He did warn me not to cross him, if that makes a difference. Mr. Samuel, I mean.”
She smiled at that, and I could have bet money on the fact that she knew Samuel, perhaps quite well. Hell, for all I knew she was the widow and him the husband’s corpse. With that assumption tucked away in my mind, I watched her more carefully. “I appreciate your answers to my queries, Mr. Hitchens.”
“It’s been my pleasure, Mrs. Winters.” I cleared my throat and in a lower tone asked her a question of my own: “Is the Samuel fellow I met um... on the other side of the desert... Was he your husband?”
She straightened up just a bit and said, “He still is my husband... Samuel Winters. The governor from beyond,” she laughed. Then she leaned back with her writing tray and began a new letter. I spent that time looking at the beauty before me, wondering what luck I had to be dead for days, then get paid handsomely to share tea with the beautiful widow while she wrote sweet nothings to her dead husband Samuel.
After a few minutes of reverie and contemplation on my part, she put down the pen and was folding the letter, sealing it in a new envelope. No name or markings on the envelope itself but she sealed it with a wax stamp. I took it and exchanged goodbyes with the prettiest woman in Santa Fe. I promised her I would return in the morrow to take some saddlebags across to the Mirror’s Edge for her if the price was right. That’s when I learned that she called that place ‘The Beyond’, and it seemed to me that the Mirror’s Edge was another name for the same place, but maybe she meant this Beyond is beyond the edge? I dared not ask for clarifications as to the unseen geography beyond the folds of the land of the living. It was all too confusing as it was. I asked her if I could have her hold my mares in her stables while I concluded my business, which would give the staff time to outfit them with the saddlebags in question. She seemed quite cheerful on that prospect and asked me about their names, history, and personality traits. I obliged her, and we exchanged a few more pleasantries before I parted ways. What a charming woman! Samuel Winters was a lucky man to have her.Chapter Seven (*blood/gore trigger warning*)
Pallid Desert Falls
I walked back down to the plaza, enjoying my recent accomplishments and orienting myself to reach the address listed on the third envelope. This was the location of Samuel’s associate, where I would be getting the other two thousand dollars for the delivery job’s pay. After that, I was bound to aimlessly wander the frontier, avoid Bossman for the rest of my days, until I spent all the money I earned, or got caught. At least that is where my head was at as I meandered the streets of Santa Fe.
After obtaining some directions from a local man, he directed me to a decidedly poorer district, where ramshackle houses and half-ruined adobe homes had been patched together to make shelters for the downtrodden. Amid these buildings, there stood an old building which likely had been a warehouse used by spanish colonials, with cracked bricks and a roof that had to have been patched poorly at the turn of the century, long before my Ma was born.
The streets smelled as bad as you could imagine, with refuse bunched up against low walls or right in the middle of crooked alleys. Well within that building, there was a rented room which was the object of my walk through this crooked place. The pale fellow who sat watch at the door took one long look at me, sized me up, judging me with his pale grey eyes. This had to be the right place, though I saw no number or letter to confirm what this was. I showed the old man the small envelope with the address. He narrowed his mouth and nodded in approval: apparently I matched the distinct looks of one who belongs in this house of ill repute. “Through the rooms and to the back door, sir,” the man’s trembling voice suggested, confirming I was awaited within.
Inside, the smell was a horrid barrage of sweaty bodies (in torrid activity I scarcely dare to describe), smoke (campfire mingled with the acrid smoke from the devil’s weed), and rotten foodstuffs that would make a French cheesemaker pinch his nose. This was likely the seediest brothel house in Santa Fe. Walking through the narrow hallway, I passed couplings gyrating to and fro, making sounds I could not even describe to you. I was not surprised as I have seen the filth of cities and the human prisoners therein. Nonetheless, I was glad to notice none of this disturbed me much, which seemed to me a side effect of being a revenant. The living did not scare me or bother me in any way. I recognized their filth for what it was. In the absence of light, I could distinguish grey shadows as shapes and I was able to move through the most disgusting orgy room you could fathom.
I walked up to the door at the rear of the house and knocked. I heard the key unlatch a moment later. I turned the handle and opened the door. Inside this small room, only darkness prevailed, and again I could see grey shadows, now shaped in the form of a man sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. There was a small makeshift bed in the back left corner of this square as well as two chairs in the right corner, one of them had a broken back.
On an instinctual level, I could sense a malevolent presence here and by the time I turned, something grabbed me from behind the door and threw me on the ground, at the feet of the seated man, whose mouth was mumbling muffled sounds.
“Ow,” I said, getting back up. I placed my left hand back, ready to unleash bullets once I could take in the situation a little better. That’s when I heard him and recognized his deep, ragged breathing and creepy chuckle. “Bossman! Hey! Fancy finding you here.”
The darkest shadow in the room gathered next to me and threw me against the wall. I tumbled. (My new hat!) Ouch. That really hurt... I must have pissed him off. I stayed down against the wall and shifted my weight to ready my guns. I could still guess at the shapes within the room, but shooting without a light was not going to be an easy fight against Bossman.
“Drop. Your. Guns.” His voice burned the brand he had burned into my shoulder, the sting of pain ripping through my flesh without mercy. I was scared. I dropped my guns. This is it, I thought. Time to try a different tactic and talk my way out of it.
“Bossman, hey, sorry about that last fuck up, that was totally my bad.”
I could feel his anger from across the room, like a malevolent spiky cloud of hatred directed at me. “You fucked up, Bill. You fucked up big time and I think I get why.” He stepped slowly towards me, crouched over me as I tried to make myself small enough to fit into the cracks of the brick wall, to no avail. He grabbed me by both ears and when he spoke next I heard him just fine, in spite of the pain, in spite of him covering my ears, because his voice was echoing inside my skull. “You’re just so bad at listening, it’s like dealing with a moronic halfwit.”
“No way, Bossman! No way! I meant to do the job, it just didn’t work out! I swear I went to the chapel and everything! There was no bride or groom there, no wedding! Wasn’t sure where to take it from there so I left...”
He lifted me by my ears, lifted me off the ground and I felt the flesh of my right ear tear off, ripping like wet silk, the flesh stretching until it could not stretch anymore. He let go of me and I fell on my ass. The right side of my neck felt wet from the slow blood seeping from the hole where my ear used to be.
“Do not speak back to me,” he said. He still held my ear and was making a mockery of speaking into it, his voice continuing to echo inside my head: “Sit up and listen carefully about your last chance to participate in my little game.” I sat up slowly, keeping my hands away from my guns and my hat. “There is one more thing that you can do to redeem your utter failures. And I know and understand you do not like to be told what to do. You would rather do a thing for cash than for the principle of the thing, which is where you are wrong by the way.”
Bossman seemed to calm down a little. He brought my ear back and slapped it on the bloody hole on the right side of my head. Weirdly enough, it seemed to stick back on, though I could feel it was on there quite loosely. He waved his hand in the dark, and an unnatural glow appeared in a corner of the room, allowing me to see him better, as well as the guy in the chair. I could distinguish things better now. Bossman stood next to the man who was seated in the chair. The man was bound in the chair with rope tugs. I also noticed the cloth sack on his head. The man under the sack was breathing hard, panicking to understand what was going on. Bossman looked larger than last time, his hands thick with power, his limbs longer than they ought to be. He was breathing in such a way that made me think he was trying to contain his infinite anger. His face was still a rather inscrutable portion of black shadows.
His double voice was a hypnotic speech, which held dark murmurs with each syllable. He was spinning sorceries upon my good ear and I suddenly wanted to listen carefully. I swayed back and forth, looking at the movement of the lips I imagined were there, somewhere behind the darkness. In this manner, he spoke: “Your last chance to make it up to me is upon you. I’ve even gotten through the trouble of bringing an old friend of yours here, as a gift and token of goodwill, so that you finally get it through your thick skull that you work for me. This is what you must do for me: You will ride your horses to the pallid deserts and help a family of pilgrims in need. You will help the man with the wheel of his carriage and allow them to continue on their way. When they move along heading West, you will return to Santa Fe and meet me at the north cross in three days.” He grabbed me by the mouth and asked, “Do you understand?”
And the thing was, I did understand him! I understood his words and exactly what they meant. When he spoke, I could see the faces of the good folks I was meant to help. I knew I could handle helping them without any remorse I’ve seem to have picked up somewhere along my way here. I knew all of these things very well, it was like he entered my brain and clarified and focused each thought, each syllable of his speech, a sort of meaning on its own. The threat of my last chance made me shudder against his cold, shadow-black skin, his grip on me loosening at last. I took a step back, my eyes transfixed upon where his dark face should be. “I understand,” my voice said, coming out of me in spite of myself. I felt under his control somehow. It was so subtle I hardly noticed and it certainly felt like I was in a trance, much calmer than I ought to be.
He moved to the back of the chair and grasped the hood, lifting it, the man moaning in an exhausted gasp as his face was revealed to me. My calm trance gave way to rising and uncontrollable anger when I looked upon the man in the chair. The lawman! That scum marshall who set me up for a hanging! My rage made me see red and Bossman’s smile appeared to me, glistening in the darkness of his face, standing behind the man who had wronged me. The marshall looked beat up but I recognized his mug well enough. He was gagged, but clearly started to beg, despite his obvious fatigue. “Your reward.” Bossman’s wicked smile soon faded, but his evil laughter filled my mind. My blood had never cooled and now I was boiling over with rage. That marshall! I very much wanted to hear him beg for his life.
I did not notice Bossman had even moved, but he grabbed my right arm from behind and put a razor in my hand, the blade glistening awkwardly in the unnatural glow of Bossman’s power. I was entranced with anger.
Oh lord, forgive me.
I cut the gag from his mouth first. His eyes were opening and closing as though he was in and out of consciousness. I slapped him around... with the razor. After a few of these slaps, his face was dripping ribbons of gory flesh and he was screaming in pain, now wide awake. Bossman laughed like the devil he was. I was vaguely aware that the room’s door opened up and a couple folks were poking their heads inside to watch the show. I hated this man. He was the cause of all of the misfortune that had befallen me in Red Rock Basin. He begged for me to spare him and even asked to let him see a doctor. I never asked who he was, but he recognized me well enough and he cried how sorry he was, the tears mingling with the blood of his wounds.
~~~~~
I can see you folks recoiling in fear. I do apologize. I’ll refrain from telling you the rest of the things I did when I tortured the marshall scum, the dealer of injustices. I can admit now that he paid dearly for betraying me and lying to a judge to get me killed. He should have hanged, many will say. That would have been justice. He should not have been cut to ribbons the way that I did. What I hate the most about that event is that I loved it. I really enjoyed getting revenge on the man. I relished in the savagery of cutting him over and over until he had told me every sin he had done. He confessed without me asking anything of him. I felt like an inquisitor interrogating a heretic: him, bound and suffering, blabbing whatever words he thought might make it all stop; myself, relishing the experience of hurting this man who had caused my death. The truth came out of him effortlessly. Bossman guided me, telling me what to do, but other than my emotions, I felt in control of my actions. I wanted to do the things he told me to do so I did them.
~~~~~
I remember swaying back and forth, the weight of the razor long gone from my hand, staring at the bloody mess that was once Marshall Steven Peters, when I realized Bossman was no longer with me. I shook my head, then rubbed the blood from my hands with the clay dirt of the building’s bare ground and a stiff, sunscorched hood cloth that used to cover the man’s face. I felt the sudden urge to bathe in a river and cleanse myself of my sins. I ran out of the building to find that the sun had long left the skies and that night and the cold blanket of calm had overtaken the streets of Santa Fe. I felt panicked to be discovered. I was bloodied and manic, trembling with the weakening anger and the rising guilt of my violent acts against the man! Surely I had been witnessed and there was already a mob after me! Or a posse would soon be formed. I needed to head out into the wilderness to absolve myself of these sins!
“If you somehow manage to botch this effort...”
Bossman’s deep voice still echoed in my head.
“I will tear you apart, pound by pound, just like you did to the one who wronged you. Because this revenge is justice... and I will perform the same brand of justice upon you... if it comes to it.”
I ran through the streets, avoiding all souls, moving like a shadow, without a single sound, without the cry of a single dog, stray or kept. I had not realized just how quickly I could move if I put my mind and spirit to the task of escape. I was in a trance state again, this time driven by guilt instead of anger, my feet shuffling silently under me until they splashed in the river and I collapsed in the frigid waters. I tumbled and rolled and I cried forgiveness. I begged God to wash away the blood of my sins while I rubbed my hands. I trembled uncontrollably. I begged the universe to bless me, to forgive me, to baptise me anew! I splashed and struggled against my own anger and pain, my anguish drove me to new heights of madness! Only thing is that when you’re dead, reality is madness, and madness is reality... Then among the sound of the splashing waters of the river, I heard the powerful flap of wings from above.
Behold! An angel answered my call! And it was the most terrifying thing I ever saw.
It swooped in from the sky upon six wings, each wing the size of the largest man you ever saw. Its form was shifting through space with bubble-like rings of spinning gold around its silhouette, beating the air with rhythmic whipping sounds. I cried out for forgiveness and the thing shifted towards me and with an enormous arm growing out of its center (the arm was covered in small black feathers for hair, and gruesome white talons at the end of its many, many fingers) it grabbed me, squeezed and held me underwater. Screaming became impossible. A moment later, there was water in my lungs and I coughed underwater while it spoke inside my head.
“You are blessed. You are not to be destroyed. You have another part to play in this great struggle.”
Its voice was crystalline, metallic, and carried the grace of forgiveness in its undertones, and the threat of wrath in its finality. Yet I much preferred its voice to its appearance. The arm held me under the water until it was done talking. I kept coughing water until I realized I could just calm down and stop breathing for a while, though I did not for one second feel at peace in this beneficial ritual, held under the cold rush of the flowing waters of the Santa Fe river.
“You are now forgiven of your past sins. You must listen closely to my instructions. You shall not help the pilgrim family. In fact, you must commit a small harm upon them. You will go into the pallid desert and you will take them away from the trail for the span of a week.”
My shoulder suddenly burned and I felt the brand from Bossman fizzle out of my flesh with an effervescent tickle which shook my whole being. I felt my ear fuse back together firmly. I felt refreshed as well, and the water in my lungs no longer bothered me.
“You are healed, by the sources of life, which flow eternal from the edges of the holy graal. You are embarking on a quest for war against God’s enemies. You will drive away corruption and shatter the devil’s armies!”
~~~~~
I dared not roll my eyes, but I truly wondered what this terrifying entity was going on about. I’m not really the religious warrior type... T’was getting too intense in my eyes, you know? But, nonetheless, I did feel blessed in that moment. If this was not a second chance staring me in the face, I could not imagine what would be.
~~~~~
“William David Rose Hitchens, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom you are born again of water and of the Spirit, and who has forgiven you all your sins, strengthen you with His grace to life everlasting. Amen.”
A flash occurred then and the world disappeared for a split instant.
The angel tore me from the waters, shaking me and my clothes completely dry in one swoop of the world spinning around me, the waters escaping my lungs effortlessly, and he stuck me standing on a small promontory about fifty paces away from the flow of the river where he had just baptized me!
“Rise and breathe! You are baptized and born anew!” A squawking voice said from ten paces away. I turned to see a raven of tremendous size perched on a leafless tree with many broken limbs. The raven hopped and moved to and fro, eyeing me left and right with curiosity. At my left side stood the monstrous angel. It finally let go of me and the impossible arm disappeared within the spinning bands of metal which surrounded its winged form. It was moving and as it moved the world seemed to hum and move out of its way and I doubted that I could do any harm to such a creature, or thing, or entity, or whatever you would call the thing it was.
Not really the guardian angel I imagined when Grams Hitchens was telling me bible stories in my childhood, but ya gotta roll with the punches, ya know?
“Wow, that was... That was amazing!” I yelled out, my eyes crying with joy. I felt genuinely alive again and I felt warm, I could feel the strong beating of my heart, the powerful pulse in my veins, the thrill of air filling and emptying in my lungs. I was alive! “Thank you, angel! Thank you for answering my prayers!”
The angel spoke in a human-like voice, and its wings sparked as it spoke to us. “Bill Hitchens, this is your raven guide, Howard. Do as he recommends. Follow the way of the mystic, your quest will have dire repercussions across the heavens, should you fail to do the holy quest I have set before you.”
Then, just as suddenly as it had arrived, the six-winged monster continued its whipping hum as it beat the air far and away. As it left, I felt the powerful elixir of life inside of me start to fade, and I felt my damaged ear itch. It was like the life had faded away with the angel.
“Ugh! No! My life, it’s... slipping away!” I exclaimed.
Howard the raven squawked and glided down closer. Then he spoke, and boy was he immediately talkative, “Yeah, I noticed that too. One moment you were flush as a kid with his first grog, now cold as the night corpse again. Sorry, buddy. What a bummer that was to see that the effect of restoration was only a semi-permanent effect. It was not really what I expected either if it’s any consolation. And on the matter of...”
I sighed and I did roll my eyes this time, but I was polite enough to turn my back to Howard before I did it. I started ignoring Howard and it was second nature to me, after all the training I received in that regard when I met George, my vulture buddy. At that moment, I realized how much I was missing George. Meanwhile, Howard went on to tell me what I should be doing and why those things were needed. The good thing was that I could ask him questions, and unlike George, Howard actually seemed to know some important stuff. The only problem was getting him to stop sharing information once he had started.
~~~~~
The following morning, sunlight broke through the eastern hills and I had stealthily walked back to the house of ill repute where I had done my torturous deeds to that doomed marshall. I was glad to see that the angel (I assumed) had burned that place to the ground, a black pit of charred ash remained where the worst sinners in Santa Fe once indulged their sick desires. I knew this was the angel’s work, somehow. Perhaps it was the familiar smell.
“Hmm. Nothing like brimstone in the morning.” I heard a chuckle behind me and turned, only to see Samuel, looking more alive than when I saw him last! I felt confusion and anger, but did not feel like escalating things just yet. I walked briskly towards him and leaned in, hissing my questions at him and he continued to chuckle in his calming manner and assured me everything was going to be alright and that he was made aware of my situation. He was there to help!
I had questions and it was time for a sit down. Only this wasn’t the same Samuel. It was his son, Sammy Junior! I calmed down a bit and let him do the talking. He told me he had the rest of my money from the job his father set up. He also asked if I was getting my mares to cross over soon and I was able to explain to him that I had need of my horses but would need to postpone the delivery until after my business in the desert concluded.
Then he said something that struck me as odd, which left me without something to say in return: “You have a strange power about you, Mr. Hitchens. You have a certain aura which I cannot recognize very easily. Something happened to you last night, as though you are torn between too many worlds that bind you. You should be careful, Mr. hitchens. That will tear a soul to pieces if left unattended.”
It certainly made me wonder what sort of creature HE was. When I told him so, he laughed and assured me he was wholly human and alive, inside and out, but considering his parentage, I had my own doubts about that. Nonetheless, I followed him back to the Winters’ estate and back to my mares who awaited me in the courtyard. The mares were outfitted with new saddlebags filled with some supplies, as well as trail blankets to keep them warm in the cold New Mexico winds of winter. I felt a certain impatience to get going. The quest given to me by the angel was somewhat confusing but according to Howard (who was flying about and following me, I had no doubt) it could not be simpler. There may have been a couple points of the quest that I missed, which only served to add to the confusion, but I figured I would have Howard fill me in on the fine details when we would be headed West.
~~~~~
And that’s how I have come to meet you, fine folks! I made my way through the desert on my mares, Hilda and Walnut, guided by my trusty Raven guide, Howard. After a couple days traveling, that’s when I came over the hills from the east valley and you saw me arrive with the sunrise, remember? You saw me arrive and you all thought, ‘Oh! An angel sent us deliverance! A man who can repair the wheel of our heaviest carriage!’ And I told you, “Listen closely!” I told you “Listen, I was sent here by an angel of the lord in order to protect his pilgrims!” And you praised and praised, but you did not listen, now, did you?
I told you the angel told me to ABDUCT the lot of you and to threaten you to march up to the rocky hills to the north. Your lot was scared, especially when your husbands and fathers contested my claim, that an angel would suggest kidnapping in the first place! And I told you the well-rehearsed lie Howard had told me (Yes, you can blame my bird on this one): “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
And so I pointed my guns at you, and I made all of you abandon your wagon and trek North to the rocky hills and just where Howard told me, we found the cavern entrance and I asked you kindly to enter the tunnels.
~~~~~
And so you have entered and stayed in these tunnels. And we have been here in these cold caverns for several days now. I know it is not much comfort, to pass the time with these tall tales of mine, but they have kept you and your families quite occupied, wouldn't you say? As you have heard, I’m a very reasonable fella. Even if you believe none of it, all of it is true to my experience, I assure you. Which means that, yes, if the Bossman were to find me, he would likely take the time to cut me to pieces. I shudder to think of my yells of pain which you would have to endure before Bossman turned to do the same to you, so let’s move on.
Now I will tell you what Howard has told me on our journey here. Oh I know you think I’m mad and that my Raven friend only crows and squawks and speaks a few words to you and your family, but to me he is astonishingly, almost punishingly, talkative.
In any case, let me tell you about the monks of doom which hide in the western valley beyond your intended trail. According to my sources, which feature my aforementioned raven guide, as well as the six-winged angel which baptised me, the monks would have offered you shelter during a leg of your journey, you see. And in offering you shelter, you would have trusted these monks. Eventually, you and your loved ones would have taken in some of the broth or drink they offered you. Then you would have come to realize their hospitality came at a price. You would have entered a trance-like state due to the poisons in your foods and drinks, during which you would all have been tied to their basement altar and your lives would be sacrificed in the name of an otherworldly entity, which I do not care to name here. And let’s just admit to ourselves that Hell is full of devils and the legion of them hide in the stars behind the curtains of the heavens. They are prideful enough to have one or many names, it’s a terrible thing to be aware of this, which I do not wish to indulge for too long, lest it makes me dazed with anguish! In any case, you and your pilgrim families would have been journeying to your dooms, you see! They would have cut you and used your life’s sacrifice to commit heresy of the highest order!
For whatever reason, the particularly unholy ritual sacrifice would have succeeded, and an entity I only refer to as Bossman, would have joined the world of the living and granted him impossible powers over our reality. If not for the intervention of the heavy rock upon the wheel of your carriage, you would already be dead. If only that rock had rolled a foot to the side, your carriage would have passed without consequence, and you would have fallen prey to the monks’ false hospitality. Lucky for you, it was the rock who stopped you, and it was I who rescued you and abducted you into these caves. All of this was done for your protection, I remind you! If you will just be patient for a few more days, we will be in the clear and you may resume your journey across the pallid desert to whatever western frontier awaits you. I’ll even see what I can do about your wheel at that point, but let’s get through hiding out for a while longer.
In other words, by delaying your journey and hiding you from the nefarious monks, I have saved you all, ye chosen pilgrims! I know the rope bites at the skin, but there’s nothing for it, because, well... I just don’t trust you not to do something foolish like escape and fall prey to these awful cultists! According to my bird friend, the stars were right a couple days ago, and they are not usually right for too long, so a bit more patience will see us through this whole ordeal. And a bit less crying from your wives and your children would be appreciated, sirs.
Chapter Eight (coming soon)(*blood/gore trigger warning*)
Monks from Hell
I was not surprised to find the pilgrims awaiting help along the trail west of town. I was surprised that they greeted me with kindness and hope, their friendliness immediately endearing me to them, which felt disgusting. They had been praying for saviors to come help them with their broken carriage wheel. They ended up with me instead. I took a little time bullshitting them but the discussion started dragging on when I could not come up with a good reason NOT to help them with the carriage wheel. And I was not creative enough to guide them towards the caves that were supposedly there. Apparently they were not keen on trusting me after I pointed out that I knew they would be there. So I did what I knew best: took my guns out of my holsters and threatened their lives. That absolutely worked and I was able to guide them without having to shoot to prove a point. Seemed that I was good at scaring the innocent. We had to leave the carriage in its spot, but we managed to pull the rest of their wagons off the trail and into a decent little hiding spot, then treaded carefully into the caves that Howard, my raven guide, assured me were there. To my amazement, it was just as the angel and Howard had assured me. I was not surprised, but the circumstances certainly made me feel amazement at their keen foresight.
~~~~~
Hiding in caves is no easy business, but it was not my first time sequestering myself for a week or two. It was usually wise to lay low after doing a job, so my outlaw past did lend me some idea of what to expect. I knew the beats and timing of when the hostages would start to get desperate and have ideas of freedom. So I did my best to distract them with this tale, this story of how I came to be their saviors by kidnapping them. By the end of my tale, they seemed more confused and annoyed at me than impressed at my methods of pulling them out of harm’s way.
~~~~~
What can I say, they did not want to hear a truth so foul that they were saved by a ruffian revenant like myself. They did take it seriously enough when I told them this all started with a wrongful hanging, and that was something. I was able to show them the rope marks around my neck. They were impressed I “survived” the hanging. I shook my head, knowing those wounds around my throat would never heal.
I was trying not to get completely and desperately bored in the rocky caves. We had spent days in the cave by this point, but I only got out periodically to ensure our horses and livestock were still hidden from the east-west trail. I was not completely aware of how much time had already passed but it felt like forever and a day. My retelling to the pilgrims only took so long in spite of the frequent breaks.
I had to make sure the pilgrim men did not shuffle too much and suddenly pose a threat to me and to themselves. The last thing I wanted was messing up my chance at impressing my guardian angel. You don’t get hanged then given a second chance and squander it. No, I will NOT squander it. So I was thinking about myself and how in a few more days in the caves I would release the pilgrims, return to Santa Fe, triumphant over Bossman’s twisted plans. I was wondering if the angel would intervene if Bossman got to me first. Then I wondered what that meeting of these entities would be like. I assumed a conflict of biblical proportions might ensue.
‘That would be terrific to watch’ I thought to myself, when suddenly that wondrous image dancing in my mind’s eye was interrupted by Howard’s alarmed yells coming from the mouth of the caverns. His squawking and crowing echoed obnoxiously throughout the whole cave complex as though a hundred ravens lived there: “They’re here! They’re coming up here! They’re coming!”
“Do I even ask who is coming or am I shooting whatever comes through here until it stops moving?” I asked him, sliding my guns out of my holsters. I had already organized and kept all of the guns our group had. They were laid out on a wooden crate I had the pilgrim men drag up here when I had forced all of them into the caves.
“It’s the monks! The cultists of Yog-Sothery! Worshippers of the Yaldebaoth Triumphant! Sorcerers of Azathoth Supreme! They’re very bad!” Howard cracked his voice and I could hear the tinges of fear he was trying to impart upon me.
I was just hoping I had enough bullets to take them down. “I hope I have enough bullets to take them down,” I told Howard and the pilgrim men huddled behind me. The women and children were already sequestered deeper into the cave system.
Howard was pretty freaked out but he flew to my shoulder and said in a quiet squawk, “Bill! There’s at least a dozen of them! Maybe a few more than that!”
“That’s a whole posse of them, then. Well, I was worried about being bored without a good story to tell our prisoners, I mean our pilgrim friends, here. Sure won’t be boring now...”
The pilgrim men were shuffling in their binds and I told them they better move to the back of the caves and hide as best as they could. The rope I had tied them with would allow for minimal movement but they should manage... I hoped. I hesitated, but in the end I holstered one gun and used my free hand to grab my bowie knife and cut their feet loose. It would make their shuffling through the caves a bit easier.
The pilgrim’s leader, Leland Parker, asked if they could wield their guns and join me in the coming fight. I told them they better not but that I would do my best to kill the monks before they killed me and that they might have to mop up the rest.
I was keeping the guns and I would take on the sins or glories of killing the monks, depending on whether they were truly evil or if I had been made a fool and manipulated into actually abducting the innocent. Oh shit. It just dawned on me. What if I was really the baddy and the monks’ posse were here to rescue the pilgrims? What if they weren’t the bad guys here? What if this whole time I was somehow manipulated into doing the wrong thing even when I believed I was doing the right thing?! Why did death have to be so confusing? Why did life?!
This entire time I had detected no lies from Howard or from the angel... or from Bossman for that matter... but what if I heard things? What if Howard just squawked and I imagined the rest in my undead stupor? What if the angel and Bossman were another projection of my imagination and never existed in the first place?! What if I was dead, my corpse still hanging from the rope and this was one final hallucination before my eternal rest?
I shuddered at the thought and snapped out of my paranoid reverie. ‘Not really the time to question it all’, I thought to myself. ‘Better focus on killing the monks, for they will surely try to kill me, regardless of my level of confusion.’ I shook my head, shaking the doubts loose from my mind. No time for this inner debate now. I had to follow Howard on this one.
~~~~~
Howard helped lead the pilgrims further into the caves. I told them to follow my bird guide. I then took a few moments to run the fight through my head, unsure how much time I would have before the monks and I faced each other. I placed a few of the pilgrims’ guns in strategic locations, hidden behind rock formations or in low places where I thought I could use them best. I figured that I would shoot and fall back deeper in the caverns, rinse and repeat, and hope for the best. That was a good strategy, or so I thought.
~~~~~
As rushed as the alarm was, the monks seemed to take their sweet time, entering the cavern as though they knew exactly where to go. Still, they moved carefully, advancing with rigor and trying to keep their arrival a secret. I could see the hint of their silhouettes moving, though I distinguished none of them very well yet. Their movement through the cave mouth was shifting the light but my line of sight was too far to distinguish their numbers. It was just too far to discern and count them from my vantage point in the main chamber.
I had just enough time to extinguish all sources of light and I kept the cave as dark as I could manage. I knew I could move silently and that the monks could not. The passages were narrow and while the rocky cavern provided cover, there were spots the monks would have to pass through that would expose them to my gun barrels. Then we blast! And by we, I mean me and the guns I’ve scattered.
I’ve got my lovely new revolvers holstered and I’ve got Husband Schultz’ engraved beauties in my hands. I had three varmint rifles, a Henry repeater with a custom long barrel, three trail shotguns with double barrels; those were scattered down the three larger chambers where the cavern passages opened up enough for them to pass.
Howard was trying to whisper so he hopped on my shoulder and we hissed the following words at each other, trying not to be overheard at all. The sickly voice of a raven whispering two inches from your ear was one of the most unnerving feelings I had ever experienced, short of the rope tug then the immediate neck snap instant of death, of course. I shuddered to be reminded of it.
Howard said to me, “This is the fourth worst possible scenario! We’re in grave danger, here! Especially you... which is terrible for me of course, as I am supposed to be responsible for your success! Oh, this is real, real bad!”
“That’s what you needed to tell me? Like you think I can’t tell?” I snapped at him, then I asked, “Wait, what do you mean fourth worst scenario? What’s the top three worst things here?”
“Not just here! It’s the fourth worst scenario for this whole mission!” he snapped back. “The third worst is if they come here and blow the entrance with dynamite and leave us for dead, because that’s most likely to kill all of us and I like being alive.”
“Yeah, I admit that it would be pretty bad for us... stuck in the caves with all those snotty, noisy kids... And the other two scenarios?”
“Second worst is if you had showed up and helped the pilgrims on their way like Bossman had told you to do. And I know you’re gonna ask... The worst possible scenario would have been if you’d showed up, helped the pilgrims, and then helped the cultists perform the ritual... Yeah that would have been the absolute worst possible thing to happen to the mission.”
“What? Wait... WHAT?” I was trying not to yell at the bird perched on my shoulder while the monks approached us, inching closer though not as quietly as they might have hoped. But Howard was distracting me and I was getting angry. “You’re telling me this is the likeliest worst case scenario: getting caught in the mad cultists’ devious destruction dedicated to the devil? Don’t you think we can take them?”
“Not without getting David and Leland, and letting the other pilgrim men join forces and wield their own guns against the evil monks!”
“You mean to tell me you trust them not to turn on me the moment I hand them a gun?!” I asked, incredulous.
“Oh no, not a chance. They would shoot you full of lead before the monks got to them, then the monks would, you know, get to them and likely torture and kill them, perhaps keep a few alive as captives until the next time the stars align to their liking... but no, I really do not think the pilgrims took you at your word when you told them the whole truth. I think they preferred the fake story you had started out with, the one about being a wealthy landowner undercover on the frontier. Everyone seemed to love that one so much.”
“You’re right, I should not have told them this whole thing as freely as I have. Oh well! Gotta make the most of it now. Here they come!”
The monks entered the open cave chamber and squinted. They paused and I tried to discern how many monks were behind the first group of three. Then I started blasting the monks. I could barely spot what they really looked like as it was so dark, but I could discern that they wore robes of folded fabric tied with rope belts. They also wore either sandals or had no shoes whatsoever based on the way their feet shifted against the dirt and rock floor of the caverns. They did not seem to have much in terms of firepower because they never blasted back in retaliation. But they did appear to wield sturdy farming tools to make war with. I also suspected more than a few of them might have one of those sinister daggers for ritual sacrifice, but that might have been my imagination getting the best of me.
I shot with my right hand first, then my left, then again my right, alternating and moving from one side of the cave chamber to where the next tunnel opening was. The whole thing went down like a well-rehearsed move in spite of my short time preparing. I emptied both of the Schultz revolvers in the process, and with that I killed the first four cave-exploring monks who had invaded our underground hideout! The rest of them quickly retreated and I could see silhouettes moving down and finding cover.
Damn! I thought they would press on!
I reached my first gun stash and put down the Schultz revolvers, then picked up the first varmint rifle and belted one of the shotguns. I aimed down the only access they had. They were talking in hushed tones and organizing themselves for an assault from behind a large rock formation, giving me no openings for the next kill. I had them on the cave mouth side of the main chamber where I laid waste to their first group. This was good, but not if they were planning on waiting overly long.
Howard hopped close and reminded me of the dynamite they could have. It made me eager to get closer to them, in spite of the danger of getting within range of their weapons. A billhook did nasty things to flesh, for instance. And the stabs of a shortened pitchfork is nothing to sneer at, even in my undead condition! “If they’re preparing dynamite, we’re as good as bones!”
“Ugh! If they’re preparing firearms, I can’t get closer to them!” I retorted, annoyed that Howard was such a coward. Hah, it rhymed. Gave me an idea. “Hey now! Don’t be Howard the coward and fly above them to see what they’re doing!”
“Bill, no! It’s too narrow to fly! And I can’t see shit in here anyway!” Howard protested.
“Prove your worth and be my scout! You can do this, Howard! Come on! Fourth worst scenario, here!” I said, doing my best job of motivating a talking bird while aiming a varmint rifle at the moving shadows of the cave. I felt Howard swoop off of my shoulders, scratching my skin with his nasty claws as he left. I thought I might have upset him.
I continued to aim at the dark. The monks’ shuffling was too far to discern and much more quiet now. I hoped not to hear the hiss of a dynamite stick being lit. I needed to wait quietly and keep my ears open for the right squawk to act. Or wait for the moment I would come face to face with a silently-sneaking monk and react.
Those two moments, however, occurred at the same time.
The monk jumped me, small guy that he was, he was at least able enough to grab the rifle with both hands, which is the smart thing to do if you’re unarmed and your opponent holds a rifle. Meanwhile, a bright light had been struck just as Howard hovered over the monks preparing their torches. His squawk was more a yell of surprise and shock than any sort of warning. I yelled too, from the surprise assault of the monk, as well as from the blinding light of the fire after several days in the mostly dark cave.
I knew what to do. I prided myself in fighting and reacting with lightning reflexes and while I was not always in perfect form, I had trained myself for various scenarios, including the chess-worthy setup of holding a rifle I never intended to shoot, only to quickly let go of it and grab my holstered pistols. Back when I was alive and running with the Redding Gang, I picked up all kinds of nasty pistol-fighting tricks. The way I had practiced required a bit more room than I had, but I was able to shoot the man twice. Just as he was realizing I had let go of the rifle and he started to swing the barrel out towards me, I hit him with both guns at once: one in the head, one in the heart... Nearly perfect shots they would have been, but the man was shorter than the average rowdy farmhand, so I shot the top of his skull cracked open and shattered his clavicle to bits. His yell of pain echoed like mad throughout the chamber and the man chanted in his bloody stupor!
Cool move as it was, in falling back against the rock wall, I hit my head pretty badly and instantly lost my hat (again!). I panicked and checked to see if my ear was still attached, but in my hurry I knocked the right ear loose trying to grab it! Damn! Blast! I would have to find those little accessories later, when the fight was over.
The cultists moved quickly, rushing in as a group, torches in one hand, and in the other: blunt instruments of pain and terror (shovels and picks!). So I scrambled to my feet, fired my guns and dropped another two monks. I moved back, holstering my new revolvers and picked the varmint rifle back up, pointing it down towards the chamber that the monks had invaded in unison. I moved backwards holding the rifle in front of me. I did not think they saw which hole I used to escape the main chamber, so they had to slow down again, and they explored the recesses of the cave walls for a few moments. I might have a minute or two, but not if they were lucky in their search, then I would only have moments and they would be upon us. There were at least eight left, perhaps more of them!
I took the opportunity to reload my revolvers then holstered them again. I heard the clicks of the other two Schultz revolvers I had left in the chamber. The monks had found them and soon they would find this passage. I shot the first monk who brought his torch down the path, blasting his third eye to infinite blindness and he collapsed forward, his shovel clinking against the rock wall as it tumbled, his large body making a thud as it landed forward at my feet. I stepped back and aimed again, waiting for my next target.
I heard their feet shuffle and shift, but none came to the passage now and I could not blame them. Nobody likes to get shot at. Instead of trying to make progress, they called out to me: “Gunman! You know why we’re here! Let us have them. You and your bird can go.”
And quickly another voice, younger, “But we do have your bird! So give us the people who were destined to us!”
“No idea what you’re talking about!” I yelled back instinctively from down the passage. Then I heard their feet shuffling again and I cussed myself for giving away my position and distance.
“Let these people go,” said another voice, older and slower than the other voices. “They have done nothing to deserve this. Give them back to us.” I said nothing this time, I just waited. The old voice continued, “Give them to us and we will let you live. If you don’t, we will snap this raven’s neck.”
I could have let them kill Howard. But as annoying as he was, I really did not feel right leaving him to their violent lust. I winced, realizing I would have to enter the chamber and open fire on them from the mouth of my passage. They would likely wait me out in a stalemate. Wait until the pilgrims starved and I still had no way to leave other than through the main passage they occupied. But I was pretty sure my guardian angel would be pissed if I ended up with dead pilgrims at the end of the quest log.
I decided to respond, calling out to the monks, “Fine. Let’s do an exchange, but don’t hurt that bird... Unless you really have to... And I promise not to kill the pilgrims, unless I really, really have to.”
That seemed to have the right effect, as I heard more shuffling, likely out of confusion. I slowly creeped down the passage towards the monks who had invaded the primary chamber of the cave complex. I was surprised how stealthily I could move without disturbing a single rock. I was close enough that I could now hear them whisper to one another, but I could not hear the whispers themselves.
I figured I ought to interrupt them before they organize themselves too well, so I did the smartest thing I could think of: I rolled forward out of the passage and into the chamber, immediately aiming the rifle at the closest monk with a torch, blowing bits of hot charcoal everywhere, disrupting their eyes and ears in one blow, extinguishing the torch. The boom of the rifle’s fire echoed throughout the entire cave. I knew how to handle this with speed, I pulled the lever and continued my assault, rolling or moving then shooting a torch, until the room glowed with nothing but the bright embers of scattered torches. The smoke of extinguished fires quickly filled the room.
I worked hard keeping those pilgrims alive, and I had kept them damn busy with my stories, I was not going to let these backwoods cultists take my hard work away! I channeled my anger to give my limbs strength and speed. Miraculously, it worked.
The monks were now somewhat blinded and deafened so I switched to my bowie knife and shotgun. I started moving as fast as I could around them, which was risky but I was taking them by surprise, always moving which did not feel exhausting yet. In this manner, I kept them turning on themselves and bumping into each other. I sliced through the legs of several monks on the exterior of their group to immobilize them, unleashing the blasts from the shotgun and dumping it. Several of them tried to grab at me as I moved around them, but I escaped their grips with the judicious application of bullets to the face each time I felt their fingers clutch my clothing or limbs too tightly. The revolvers were now moving smoothly in my hands, snapping to my targets quickly and I was cracking their heads in half, keeping the flashes and echoes reverberating around them until none of them stood.
I looked at the pile of bodies and felt somewhat proud of killing these unholy men! I guess I was good at massacres after all (just not the massacres Bossman hoped for). One of them was spitting blood and curses at me in latin. He appeared to be the last one of them alive. He cursed and his wheezing increased along with his wrath. His eyes were practically popping out of his face, pumped up veins on the sides of his wrinkled forehead, as he began shouting at me. I did not care for it but I was out of bullets. I picked up my knife from the ground and approached him. He kept his hands on his guts to keep them from spilling.
I was about to stab him in the skull and destroy his brain when someone dropped a net of heavy ropes on me and I collapsed on top of the mad monk. His shouting was louder and I struggled to escape the net, only to be kicked and beaten with staves until I felt a heavy blow to the head which returned me to the oblivion of unconsciousness.
~~~~~
Unfortunately, there were more monks than I previously believed. I regained consciousness and noticed I was still in the cavern. I could hear hushed voices talking and there was agitated movement somewhere behind me. I stayed dead quiet. It seemed to me that the monks—who spoke exclusively in latin by the way—were agitated about the one I had maimed and angered. I shifted so that I could peek at what they were doing. They were tending to him and another one I had not quite killed. There were six monks left who were able-bodied. They were the older, perhaps wiser, who had crept at a slower pace through the rocky caves and missed the carnage I had wrought.
Alas, I was in pretty bad shape to take on any more fighting. Both my wrists were broken, my left ankle was crushed by their blows as well, and it definitely felt like my forehead was caved in just a little. It did not feel right, but other than the idea of being broken, the pain itself was manageable, extensive and dull as it was. I thought my best bet would be to get out from the rope net and leave the caves, crawling if I had to, limping if I could manage to sneak away from them.
I gathered my broken wrists and tried to realign them so that they would fuse back together like my ear had somewhat managed to do. I might have to leave that ear behind for the time being, dangit. I clicked my bones back in place, and stayed as still as I could after that. I felt an itch as the sinew and bone started repairing itself, but I had to be careful for some time or they would break again. In fact, I could not wield any weapons now, blunt or banging, for even the revolvers would likely twist the bone off into a break. I was not sure how long proper reattachment and healing would take. I supposed I would find out eventually if I could just make it out of here.
I had to roll onto my side imperceptibly slowly in order to reach and adjust my ankle break. I clicked the break back in place with a breathless sigh of relief. Now to slide the net off of me and slip away.
“Not so fast, outlaw,” said a monk as he stepped on my shoulder and kept me pinned on my back. He held a lantern, one of the pilgrim’s oil lamps, in his right hand. In his left hand, he held my hat.
“I was not going that fast though,” I retorted. “Look, you can torture me and all that but would you be kind and leave those folks alone? They’re just caught up in a situation they don’t belong in.”
A cackle exploded behind me and I twisted my neck unnaturally to see that it was the old spill-gut monk, laughing at my request I presumed. He was barely sitting up and was still bleeding profusely from his belly. His face looked pale but his mad eyes rolled. He was not long for the grave. I wondered if he would receive any devilish deals as I had once he crossed over. He spat out mean words in Latin, then switched to vernacular English so that my dumb brain could keep up: “They are absolutely in the situation they belong in. You, on the other hand, are not supposed to be helping them avoid us or our sharpened blades. You were supposed to help them get to us! *cough cough* ...to get to us while there was still time... The sacrifice was a long time coming...”
“Looks like your little ritual ran out of time... and so will you, soon enough!” I spat back at him, before the monk standing over me kicked me hard in the ribs. I pretended to feel the pain and rolled to my side. Sigh. There was nothing. No guns, no shovel, no rock big enough to wield or throw with efficiency. Even if I was willing to break my wrists again, there was no weapon I could put to use. I was pretty much doomed at this point, might as well enjoy it.
The old monk continued into his coughing fit and he eventually stopped, collapsing forward. The monks gathered around him, except for the one who was tormenting me. He started beating me, rightfully blaming me for his bossmonk’s death.
“You’ll pay for this!” he spat at me and stomped my hat. Then he picked up a pickaxe and raised it one-handed, ready to bring it down upon my half-tangled body. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Lucky for me, that’s when his head exploded with a bang!
The pilgrims! Howard led them into the chamber and soon the whole cavern echoed with gunfire and the monks dropped like flies all around me. Their bodies were riddled with bullets, blood splotching out of their flesh in a beautiful medley of violence. I took a couple bullets as well, but I was still grateful. The last of the monks fell dead and the pilgrims stopped shooting. Howard flapped his wings and approached me, picking at the edge of the net.
“Damn good timing, Howard! Glad to see ya!” I said, grabbing my crushed hat and trying to fix it. I stood up and regarded the pilgrims. “And I am mighty glad to see you!” Several of the pilgrims pointed their guns at me. I held my hands up. Howard flew up to my shoulder and cawed at them. They lowered their weapons and approached me warily.
One of the older family men stepped forward and regarded me, his disdain being replaced by curiosity. He asked, “You were telling the truth? About the monks I mean.”
I grinned. “Listen, like I told you earlier, everything I told you is a true story.”
“But you’re not the bad guy?” asked Leland.
“Well, that’s debatable... I’m not sure that I’m the good guy either, if that helps,” I replied.
From behind the pilgrim man, a little boy moved into view. He picked his nose and asked me, “Why do you have a hole in your forehead, mister?”
Chapter Nine (coming soon)
Reward & Punishment
The pilgrims had become a lot more accepting of their lot, and of me in general, once they realized I had indeed told them a true story. Apparently, Howard had done a better job than I had, summing up the reasoning behind our little quest, but that was according to a talking bird so I took that with a grain of salt. I guess I was the good guy after all. I had thwarted Bossman’s gambit to sacrifice them and incarnate himself. I even aided the angel that absolved me!
I took a minute to gather my hat and my lost ear. I stuck the ear back on after cleaning it. It looked alright. The hat was a relief for the pilgrims, as they did not have to stare at the hole in my forehead any longer. I got my guns gathered and loaded as well, ready for the next thing I would have to face.
The pilgrims and I buried the monks in the caves, giving them a good christian burial, with some solemn words forgiving their souls and actions and the like. Leland was decent at saying the right thing, and even I was moved by his little speech, in spite of the preaching and praying for their eternal souls. I wondered if they entered the Mirror’s edge as I had, their ghosts guided by Bossman to do misdeeds as he had attempted with me.
Then we trekked out of the caves and back for their lost carriage on the dust trail. We made camp there, by the wayside, tending to the pilgrims equipment. We worked for hours on repairing the wheel together. It was excruciating work but I found I had a good bit of strength they considered “unnatural”. In spite of the strength in my limbs, I had to set my wrists back in place several times after the severe damage I suffered when the monks had dropped the net on me and beat the living daylights out of me. The sinew of my joints were still holding up alright (for now) but I wondered just how quickly this body of mine would break down. Howard did mention the breaks would never heal quite right and would be forever prone to break as they had.
I should also mention, for the sake of those who are worried about these types of things, that we did round up the animals successfully, that is to say my mares Hilda and Walnut, as well as the pilgrim families’ beasts of burden and horses. One of the things that had bothered me the most was making the trek out of the caves twice a day to care for the animals and ensure they were well hidden. Well, not so well-hidden, it turned out, as the monks did find our hiding spot. All in all, the pilgrims were grateful the monks focused their wrath upon me and not their livestock, which they would still need in order to make their future homestead in Oregon.
All rounded up and ready to go, I said bye to the pilgrims who insisted on a parting prayer. I indulged them, saying grace at my last meal with them, which went something like this: “Thank you, Lord, for showing us the way through strife and difficulty. Thank you for your second chances and your mysterious ways. Thank you for the friendship of your children and the care of your angels. Amen.”
Ok, I might have embellished it on paper, but it was definitely along those lines and longer-winded, but you get my meaning. Thank you for tagging along this leg of the journey, my story friends.
~~~~~
Two days after massacring the monks, after all the burying and work to set up the pilgrims on their journey as properly as I could fathom, which was gruesome work (digging a mass grave takes time), I was finally making my way back to Santa Fe. About ten miles outside of town, I noticed the golden silhouettes of vultures. George and his buddies swooped down.
“Well, well, well! Bill! I finally found you, you rascal!” George squawked as he landed hard on the dusty trail, shuffling his feet closer, looking funny as he held his wings up so as to not scrape the long feathers against the rough ground.
I smirked back at him and tipped my damaged hat. “Nice to finally see you joining the ranks, George. I thought I’d lost you for good!”
Howard, who had been gliding above us, made a show of swooping down and flapping hard as he landed on my shoulder. I turned my head towards him and looked back at George.
George rolled his eyes, which looked very mild on a vulture, as it turns out. Then he said, “Oh, I see the role of bird guide has been an important one for you, Bill... Is that what you replaced me with? A death messenger? I’m calling it a bit obvious, there, Bill.”
Howard held his head high and spoke for me, saying, “Oh, and a vulture guide to a newly dead man isn’t too on the nose for the theme, here?”
“Oh shut up, the both of you!” I told them. “I’m always so lost I could use a couple guides, so you’ll just have to get along, will ya?”
~~~~~
The last light of day was piercing the peaks of the western hills behind me and the cold snap of darkness fell upon the land. As the last spears of sunlight faded around me, a shaft of darkness appeared fifty paces ahead of me. I stopped Walnut in her tracks, Hilda moved towards me as though this was going to be the proper time for a feeding. I patted the side of her neck and gently pushed her away from the foodstuffs.
“Uh oh,” said George.
“What’s that?” asked Howard.
I gritted my teeth and deftly checked that my revolvers could slide easily out of their holsters. The shadows swirled on the dust trail ahead of us. They coalesced into a dust devil and from the ground appeared the massive shadowed silhouette of Bossman. I had to admit, he did look very impressive. Even I was scared at this point, because I knew there was not much I could do against him.
“Bossman’s here. You two better fly off while you can,” I told them. George did not hesitate and beat his wings hard heading out of the area, flapping his corpse-scented wings, his odors beginning to feel familiar to me. Howard hesitated, but also flew off towards the heavy brush where he perched and hid. Both of them were so quiet, I almost wanted to thank Bossman for shutting them up.
Bossman took a moment to look at me, then he started moving towards me, his silhouette suggesting he once again had an abnormal number of limbs to move with, his legs shifting under him and his many arms folding and unfolding queerly as he approached. I made a point to relax in my saddle and said, “Well well well, if it isn’t the Bossman coming for his well-earned revenge.”
That made him smile. I could see the red glow of his teeth spread in a sinister grin. He stopped ten paces from me and declared, his voice an unnerving roil like the grind of stones and the whooshing of hellfire:
“You are due the punishment I promised you, Black Hat Bill.”
“I mean... I’m pretty beat up but I suppose I had it coming, foiling your plans like that.” I shrugged, trying to make him more angry, hoping to cause him a slip-up I could take advantage of.
“Before I begin, tell me... How did you do it? How did you remove my mark?”
“Trade secret,” I told him, which definitely caused his anger to rise. “But I’ll tell you if you let me be.”
He hissed at the suggestion. “TELL ME! This is no joke! A lot was riding on this sacrifice. This ritual. Life and death, and life again.”
“Oh, right! You were supposed to be summoned into our world by those cursed monks, weren’t you?! Well, shucks, that’s a real bummer there because the little cult that was worshipping you has also been wiped out. Turns out that I’m decent at massacres after all. They’re all dead and buried thanks to me, and your body will never rise in this realm if I can prevent it.”
Bossman moved closer, shifting his limbs in such a way as to make it look like he was moving away or staying in place. A nice trick, unfortunately for him I was paying attention as to where he was at all times, ready to pull my guns to hopefully cause some damage before he maimed what was left of me in this realm of the living. Perhaps I would die for real this time, joining the oblivion of my ancestors.
“TELL ME, FOOL! Tell me what you did to thwart my plans.”
“Alright, look, I will tell you if you promise not to make me suffer too badly, how about that?”
He hissed a YESSS in approval, but I knew he was lying. Nonetheless, I figured I would delay the inevitable with a bit of swirling my silver tongue for a time.
“So what happened after my little bout as a torturer and murderer for you, well let’s say that regret of my actions was guiding me. I let my spirit beg for mercy. I begged God for forgiveness and my prayer was answered.” His eyes were usually inscrutable, but I could see the reddish glow of their shape as they widened, then narrowed again. I could practically smell his suspicious thoughts now. His anger was a cloud of tension between us, dust and silt kicking up in swirls around us. I continued my story, “A terrifying angel answered my call! He came down from heaven and healed my body and spirit and gave me a new mission which directly opposed your own. For practical reasons, more so than generosity, he burned away the brand you had given me and set me free!”
Bossman moved to and fro, probably due to containing his anger. His multiple limbs started whipping the air strangely, causing me to consider shooting now, but I held and waited a bit longer. The shadows of dusk thickened all around us. The cold winds of night picked up. The mares felt nervous and I did my best to reassure them.
“Look, Bossman, just like when you picked me for your troubles, this was not personal, alright? I figured the angel might be a rival or enemy or some such? Well no matter, I don’t even know the angel’s name so I probably cannot call on them to protect me against you... So surely, you will get your revenge against me.”
“Why did you choose not to help the pilgrims? Why did you choose not to do a good deed for them and help the families be on their way? The rest was not up to you to perform! I gave you the perfect opportunity to join our ranks without the dirty deeds you abhorred... and you would not take it?! WHY?!?!”
His anger (the palpable tension rising from Bossman) did get a reaction out of Walnut and Hilda in spite of my calming touch. The mares started shifting their feet, likely getting ready to flee away from Bossman’s angry aura, regardless of my suggestions for them to remain still. I decided I should spare them. The mares had been great companions and there was no need for their slaughter. I motioned to Bossman that I was getting off the horse and he did not react so I swung my right leg over and got off of Walnut. I patted both horses on the butt and they moved off the road, and away from Bossman, keeping the shadow monster he was in their peripherals while they grazed some dry grasses on the sides of the trail, pretending to ignore the imminent showdown.
“Alright, Bossman, I’ll tell you why. It really is simple, I promise. You see, the angel explained that you would be summoned here, to this realm, which seemed astonishing to me at the time since you always seemed to pop into existence whenever you please. So I had to do a little thinking on my own, you see. I had to surmise that you can cast a form here, but it is weak in comparison to the powers you hold on the other side of life.”
Bossman chuckled and nodded, so I continued.
“The other thing was that, just like you had been kind to give me some vague instructions and very little in the way of my own choices, the angel also was not too keen on giving me any options other than do as it told me to do. It seemed like a good idea at the time to put in the extra work because the angel restored my life instead of beating me down with his power... Not that the restoration lasted anyway, but it was pleasant for a little while. Heh. Besides, I gotta tell you, Bossman, all this biblical apocalypse quest is really not my thing... You presented some great incentives, mind you. I really do not want to be cut up and tortured and destroyed.”
“I was going to offer you so much, Bill. Now you’ve delayed my plans and you must pay the price of your hubris...”
Bossman grinned a nasty grin and closed the gap between us: in a single leap, he was upon me, four of his left hands holding me down, crushing my body against the rocky, gritty trail dirt. My right ear popped right off of me, as if it were afraid of the pain to come and tried to hide from the rest of me.
A booming voice from the heavens shook the desert all around us on the trail: “IT WAS YOUR HUBRIS AND PRIDE WHICH CAUSED YOUR DOOM!”
The birds squawked in surprise from their respective hiding spots, and the horses moved further away, barely looking back at me and Bossman as they left the area. Bossman held me down, and used his many limbs to keep steady as the ground quaked a bit. I looked up to see the whipping rings and the flapping wings of the great angel from heaven. It descended, positioning itself so it hovered a few feet above the ground behind Bossman. Bossman turned around to face the angel, but silhouetted in shadows as he was, Bossman really had not moved much at all. He was very confusing to behold, unlike the angel which was very terrifying to behold. Bossman let go of me to better focus on the angel. I surreptitiously crawled from underneath him, hoping that the angel was truly there to save me.
I used this opportunity to back away from the area as Bossman and the Angel faced each other. They started speaking to each other in a language I could not understand at all. I should mention that I did not recognize the language (certainly was not the latin the monks had spoken). The language itself sounded like two dialects of the same tongue. From the angel, it came as a metallic and crystalline song, with bits of rhythm that made Bossman’s limbs dance, to and fro, as Bossman listened intently to the angel’s speech, or song. Then Bossman sang a guttural hymn of his own, to oppose what the angel said, I presumed.
I had crawled away from the trail and towards the brush. Howard sidled near me now that I was closer to that side of the trail and he tried to whisper-talk to me what they were saying. The song’s cadence seemed to pick up and the hypnotic rhythm distracted me, disturbed me in ways I cannot describe.
“Wait, you can understand them?!” George asked. George had also snuck closer to my spurs and we all regarded the strange entities as they faced each other, singing to each other.
Howard fluffed his wings a bit with self-importance and confirmed, “Of course, I can understand them. I speak all languages and tongues... Well, more or less.”
George cooed! “Wow. So... What are they saying?!”
“They’re arguing... They sound a lot like siblings actually, it’s really pretty entertaining to listen to,” Howard said as quietly as he could so as to not disturb the exchange taking place before us. “They’re even calling each other by name! The angel, Abitrion, said he thwarted Bossman’s foolish plans. Bossman’s name is Evanthen by the way, and he’s saying that it is Abitrion who is the foolish one for relying on a human to thwart a spirit’s plans. Evanthen insists that the plan would have worked and would have served them both! Abitrion, obviously disagrees, singing that Evanthen is lucky not to be destroyed for his attempt to be born into this created realm. Both of them seem to disdain the other for dealing with you in the first place. I’m pretty sure they both hate humans and find you lot quite disgusting.”
“Sweet Baby Jesus, help me sort this out,” I prayed under my breath. I was never the religious one, but this was way beyond my understanding.
Meanwhile, the song between the angel Abitrion and bossman Evanthen continued. The sounds intensified, wrecking my nerves with the anticipation of violence between the both of them. Howard continued his explanation, which I discreetly interrupted, suggesting we should round up the mares, while the powers were singing at each other, then get the hell out of there! George and Howard looked at each other and nodded. So the pair of them flew off in opposite directions, likely to hide while I did the gathering. I rolled my eyes and moved away from the scene, keeping the swirling lights of Abitrion and the shifting shadow-limbs of Ethanen in sight as I tried to make us scarce.
Rounding up the horses was not hard. I clicked my tongue a few times while I was leaving the magical singing entities behind me, and the mares popped up onto the trail again. I pulled them away and we trekked around the whole thing, through the off-trail wilderness to regain our heading and return East to Santa Fe. We were only a few miles from the chapel, and perhaps I could find refuge there if I was fast enough. There was no way to tell how long the entities would be occupied and if Bossman, I mean Evanthen, was going to come after me, I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could manage.
Howard and George flew close now as we escaped the scene. I asked Howard, “How long do you suppose they’ll be occupied with their song and dance bit?”
George answered, “For all time if you’re lucky!”
I saw Howard roll his eyes and say, “Probably wrapping up the singing soon so they can start dancing.”
And sure enough, moments later I heard a great clashing sound as the two entities finally came to blows. It came as a great, loud, thunderous bang, like a thousand blasting guns simultaneously going off. The air ripened with electricity and it smelled strongly of rain, though there was none. When I turned around, the light circles of Abitrion and projected shadows of Ethanen engulfed each other, bouncing into and through one another in an other-worldly wrestling bout between titanesque avatars!
Perfect cover for our little getaway. I climbed on top of Hilda and bent down to keep my head low as I looked back at the scene. These things were never meant for my eyes and ears, and while I was grateful to generally be around, I wondered how much better off I would have been if I had stayed dead in the first place. You know, after the hanging in Red Rock Basin.
As I pondered this, we continued our trek towards Santa Fe, staying a bit off the side of the trail, hoping we could blend in with the deepening darkness of the nightfall landscape all around us if need be, though there was not much vegetation to hide the horses if it came to it, so I thought about running like hell if the conflict shifted towards us. I was riding Hilda this time and the mares seemed spooked, both were trembling and sweating profusely. Shivers were running down all of our spines as the ground began to quake and distant booms could be heard from behind us, banging more frequently, chaotically casting bright lights from behind the dust trail.
The singing, if you want to call it that, was too distant to hear now, but the cracking and whipping sounds were still occupying me with fearful anticipation. The ground continued to quake as well, somewhat intermittently. I threw glances back regularly but once we got far enough, I started speeding up our pace. Hilda and Walnut were both glad for it. The winds were cold on my face as we whooshed by the sagebrush and junipers on either side of the trail. We pressed on, eventually spotting the overnight lights of the city. Miraculously, we remained unscathed and unseen!
~~~~~
That night was plagued with cold winds and a storm had brewed unnaturally fast from the western hills, where the angel and the demon had clashed their avatars in the land of the living, with no witnesses but our own eyes and ears at the beginning of their conflict. Winds picked up and clouds started pissing rain on us by the time we entered Santa Fe again. We found shelter outside of the cemetery, at a small half-ruined warehouse with two walls mostly standing. I managed some discarded planks of wood to scare up a makeshift leaning roof.
While the quakes continued on and off, they were too distant to shake more than the fear that lingered. After a time, even the quakes died down, and the sound of the rain eventually drowned my worries. The only hint that two worlds collided west of Santa Fe was the strong smell of brimstone carried on the winds and the continued distant thunder which continued to brew and roil in the distance.
I wondered then why I had been too cowardly to stick around and see the result of the supernatural conflict occurring just a few miles out west. I supposed I would be found by the winner, but neither Bossman nor the Angel came to punish me or reward me. It seemed to me that they were more concerned with each other than with myself, a mere pawn in their great game. This suited me fine, as I never liked this sort of attention in the first place.
~~~~~
Instead of an angel or a demon, it was a mourning dove which came to us. When the first rays of light punched the top of the walls of the ruin, I heard a beating of small wings. Then the mourning dove cooed from above, and all of us, meaning myself and my beasts (horses and birds), all looked on with curiosity, turning our heads to watch him.
I was not sure what came over me, but I cried, feeling unnecessarily grateful to still be around. Howard hopped up, then swayed his head side to side, to get a better look at the dove. The dove cooed louder and Howard started cooing back, with some difficulty at the beginning. This went on for some time, with George and I exchanging glances but mostly looking on and waiting. When the light of the sun began to pass over me, I felt its tremendous warmth in spite of the cold, lingering rain and the chilled November air. I closed my eyes, listening to the two birds coo coo at one another, wishing for the deep rest that was due to me. I knew I could not truly fall asleep, but this calm was the closest thing I could experience to the restful slumber of death.
THE END
A Feathery Epilogue
I felt a sudden light and warmth and assumed the sun was doing its thing. I was wondering if my corpse would start to rot if I rested too long in the sun’s light. I was in pretty bad shape after the beating the monks gave me, with barely any time to repair my bones and joints to look halfway decent. I still had a hole in my head that I would need to tend to. Then I heard Howard’s grating voice as he spoke in plain English though under his breath and not quite meant for me: “Well, that’s a lot to unpack, but I’ll do my best.”
I turned to him and waited for him to gather his thoughts and chime in. He seemed to take forever and I felt my patience grow thinner, now eyeing him with the annoyance that seems pervasive to my state of mind, throughout life and this... afterlife.
“Well, what is it?” I finally asked.
Howard hopped closer and George moved closer as well, curious bird that he was. Howard spoke for a long time and I did bother to listen closely this time.
“Alright, first of all, I gotta say, I’m impressed, Bill. I’m really impressed. You are the real deal.” I felt like he was buttering me up for something bad so I stayed quiet and he continued. “So it turns out that Abitrion and Ethanen are kind of like brothers and always working together and in conflict with each other. They thwart each other’s plans due to their inherent discord. The pair of them, however, have been caught and punished by a messenger from Heaven.”
“What, the dove?” George asked.
“Yes, the dove! He’s some kind of spirit of the divine breath and has like a lot of titles so I won’t bore you with those details. However, this is what he explained: Abitrion and Ethanen were punished and will not be a problem for us for the time being, though it is likely they will attempt to manipulate and control your actions in the future, Bill.”
“Alright. That’s kinda good news then.” I said, intent on listening to what else Howard had to say.
“Yes! It is! You were thrust in the middle of an otherworldly plot, mostly thought up and orchestrated by Ethanen.”
“Wait, which one was Ethanen, again?” George asked.
Howard gave him a look of annoyance and after a pause he said, “That’s Bossman’s name. The winged one is Abitrion.”
“Right, right. Just making sure I keep up.”
“Anyways, the bottom line is, Ethanen’s plot was foiled when Abitrion intervened and made Bill and I associates. Follow me so far? Good. Well it gets worse. Abitrion was not technically allowed to do what he did. Bless you and absolve you of your sins and that infraction on Abitrion’s records cause a bit of an opportunity for you.”
“Go on,” I said, wishing I had a cigar and strong whiskey to go with the weird turn in these revelations.
“There’s a lot to go over and I don’t want to confuse you too much, but you are due certain explanations. Information which, of course, Ethanen was trying to avoid giving you, keeping you in the dark as to your duties as a dead man, giving you orders of your own. He and Abitrion worked to get the lawman to set you up for a hanging. All of it was a sort of ritual to capture your spirit and put it to use as their agent. Only thing is that Ethanen had motives of his own, preparations of his own, and he took you under his wing, so to speak.”
I nodded for him to go on, and he did, saying, “The thing is, when I was plucked from my simple raven existence by Abitrion, he had to imbue me with some of his powers, giving me an immense ability for speech, languages, and intelligence vastly superior to any living thing. In spite of my intellect, Abitrion led me to believe that I was to be your guide in the afterlife, and that you had strayed from the world of the dead to do business with the living, which is supposed to be very regulated, but the west is wild and God’s eyes are turned elsewhere.”
I nodded and Howard continued, “Ethanen is bound in hell, and Abitrion is bound in heaven, and both of them will be unable to interact with this realm for a time. This plot has been in the works for several centuries apparently, mostly in setting up the worship of the monks to be compatible with the ritual to summon Ethanen to this realm. What you experienced of Ethanen was the mere shadow of his hand. A puppet. He is truly more powerful than what we witnessed. Abitrion is of roughly equal power, and like Ethanen, he was projecting his form into this reality, but his spirit remains bound to the divine fields above. Neither of them can escape, except by incarnating into a new form in this realm and hope to affect the world of the living to suit their ends.”
“Everything was in place. An outlaw to do outlaw things. That was all Ethanen needed. A simple agent with the potential to move things forward for him so he could attain life! But he did not count on the sheer free will you carry, Bill. William. You’re a hero in spite of yourself.”
“I am?” I asked, incredulous. “Always thought of myself as the anti-hero, or even the villain.”
“In your own way, you are. A hero, I mean! What you think of yourself is one thing. How others see you is another. How your decisions and actions developed is what makes you the hero this reality needs. You single-handedly foiled a centuries-old plot by generally being a slacker and following the hope of a second chance that Abitrion gave you.”
“So, does that mean I’m not baptized then? My sins are not forgiven?”
“Oh, not that at all! You were baptized! All mortal sins forgiven! The thing is that Abitrion was not supposed to be doing that. You’re not a living soul so the rules are a little different. But since it was within his power, it’s legit. You’re free of sin as of right now, which opens up the next can of worms.”
“Ah, there it is.”
“It’s not all bad. It’s kind of good, actually. Well, some of it. Ok, so your involvement with the mirror’s edge, and the land of the living, has apparently been stellar. Mostly due to your bumbling inability to fulfill Ethanen’s goals ahead of the ritual. Unfortunately, due to the way you were brought to the Mirror’s Edge... by hanging... at a certain time of day... on a certain day of the year... This created some side effects to your misdeeds that we need to discuss. The main one is that you were owed a spirit guide when Ethanen—Bossman—brought you to the other side. You did not receive one, but found one on your own, perhaps by chance, perhaps by design. Yes, George, I’m talking about you.”
George fluffed up his wings, feeling important to be associated with guiding such a bumbling fool as me! I chuckled and told Howard to go on.
“So you found your own guide and the first thing you two did was figure out how to make things work. You’re both quite practical like that. Ok, so now for the bad thing. The bad thing about the way you were hanged and the correspondences of time, and space, and all that jazz, is such that any living man you kill on the living side of things, well... they have a strong chance of becoming a revenant.”
“A revenant? An undead creature like me?! So that means the monks...”
“Yes, the monks are probably a couple days off from rising from the graves you and the pilgrims fashioned for them,” Howard confirmed.
“And those fools basically worship an aspect of Ethanen which can allow him to control them, so while he’s still stuck in hell and unable to interact directly, he will be able to suggest things to them from a distance. Divine inspiration and all that fun stuff. But for the most part, they’re likely to ignore you and just work on starting the apocalypse, which is what Abitrion wanted in the first place, due to... reasons.”
George turned to me and asked, “Who else did you kill?!”
I sighed and replied, “The lawman who set me up. He’s quite dead now. Or was, at least.” Then I turned back to Howard and said, “Ok, so let me get this straight. The dove is an archangel and told you all of this. Is he the new boss for us or what? What did he tell you we should do?” I asked.
“See that’s the thing, they’re not supposed to tell you what to do, angel, demon, spirits in between, nobody owns anybody in the land of the living. It’s all free will down here!”
“What a mess,” I said.
“You’re telling me!” Howard replied.
“Howard, with your great intelligence, I’m sure we can think of what we should be doing with the time that is given to me on this side of things.”
“Well, Bill, I’m not your spirit guide... but if I were I would put some distance between the monks and myself.”
I thought about it for a few moments. I got up and stretched my weary joints, arranging my bones a little better, puffing my chest out a bit. Hilda and Walnut were grazing small tufts of grass but turned to pay attention to me when I stood.
“You know what, I don’t think I’m gonna run this time. I got a good thing going in Santa Fe so far with plenty of money to spend and probably more money to make if I can convince Samuel Winters to continue hiring me. But first, I have to deal with the revenants.”
“Bill, you don’t understand. You wiped them out because you’re impossible to kill. Now THEY are impossible to kill and there are a lot more of them than there are of you.”
“Well, shit, Howard, would you please drop me a clue and tell me how to kill a revenant for good?”
“There are several methods. I’ll tell you on the way...”
And so I saddled up my mares to walk into the sunrise. George was hopping from foot to foot, waiting to see what I would do, and I turned to him and said, “Hey there, mr guideman! You’re coming with us, right?”
I would have never bet that a vulture could smile, but George proved me wrong.
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