John enters Haven. A large sign on rusted hinges rocks with the wind as he passes beneath. The town is not unlike the others, half empty and quiet. No church towers over the structures. The largest building is the tavern which lies beaten and ancient, hidden in the corner of the settlement. John dismounts and heads towards the establishment with rein in hand guiding the animal alongside him. He removes the white rag from his bloodstained shoulder, checking its condition. The bleeding has stopped, the wound inconsequential. He stuffs the makeshift tourniquet into his back pocket.
He comes to a stop outside the tavern and leads his horse to the side. He ropes the animal to the hitching post and leaves it to drink from the water trough. The beast gorges itself upon dirty water mixed with sand and straw, closing its eyes and lapping the drink. John makes his way up the steps and into the building.
More people crowd the interior than he expected. Four men sit and play poker, shooting each other narrowed glances and flicking chips into the pot. They set their cards down and study the newcomer, beady eyes shifting beneath grime covered brows. John tips his hat. The men shrug and return to their game.
A young woman close to John’s age sits at a table counting her money. She sifts through small bills with a look of discontent. She sighs and returns the money to her purse.
Her icy eyes turn upon John. Blonde hair cascades across her shoulders. Her face is powdered but John imagines she looks just as majestic underneath. Her full red lips shine. She’s beautiful; dressed in a burlesque outfit, legs covered by dark stockings, a deep violet corset tied around her waist.
“You need company, mister?”
Her voice is sensual, confident and strong, but it masks something.
John shakes his head and mumbles a response as he passes.
“No, miss.”
Two fire-haired men, one lanky and the other massive, drink from chipped mugs, trading jokes and roaring with laughter. The giant rubs his hand across his bald head. His crude jokes carry through the tavern on booming voice. His lanky friend snickers and glances back at John, sharing with him a crooked smile.
The bartender watches John approach as he pours a ration of whiskey for the sulking elderly man that sits up front. He dons a clean white shirt and everyday work pants. A pair of wireframe glasses balances upon the tip of his nose. He pushes the frame back up and draws a fresh glass.
John takes a seat. The drunk beside him looks up from his glass. His body sags with age, back twisted from labors long passed. He studies John for some time, eyes squinted as though searching. He finally turns away, reaches for his whiskey, and drains the clear liquid.
“Can I help you?” the bartender asks.
“I need to speak with the innkeeper.”
“You’re looking at him.”
“You’re both?”
“That’s right,” the bartender says, whipping a rag against his leg, “Not much help around here. People seem to spend money far more often than earn it.”
John chuckles. He removes his Stetson and sets it aside. “I need a room,” he says.
“You have cash?”
“Of course.”
“Then you get a room.”
The bartender opens a cupboard behind the bar. A collection of keys hangs from a nail buried in the wood. The barkeep removes one and shuts the case. He turns and extends an open hand towards John, key resting atop his palm. John reaches to take it. The bartender’s body tenses. He doesn’t release. He nods towards the dried blood on John’s arm. His focus travels down to the revolvers at his side.
“You in some kind of trouble, boy?” he asks, drawing back his hand.
“My name’s John. You can call me that, or mister, or sir, but please don’t call me ‘boy’.”
“You in some kind of trouble, mister?”
“Nothing serious.”
“Depends what your definition of serious is. See we don’t get much trouble in this town, the occasional bar fight but not much else. So I’ll ask you again, are you trouble?”
John pulls the room key from his hand.
“Not me, but the man who’s after me is.”
“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“If I leave he’ll burn this town. He’s a Rider, not of the new breed either.”
The bartender’s eyes widen. The color drains from his face.
“A Rider’s after you?” he asks.
“And I’m after another.”
“What makes you think you’ll stand a chance?”
John draws one of his revolvers, his other hand held up as a sign of peace, and sets it on the table. The drunk beside him straightens. His eyes lock upon the silver weapon. He sways in his seat but his focus never wavers.
“You see this gun?” John asks, “It belonged to an old Rider. He trained me. I’m the best man for this.”
“You’re young.”
“So were the first Riders and they ruled this land.”
“Who hunts you?” the bartender asks, his face frozen.
“A man with scarred eyes.”
The man beside John coughs, spitting whiskey back into his cup.
“Prince?” he sputters.
“You know him?”
“Yes. Oh yes. He lived here.”
“What?” John asks.
“When he was a boy. I was the bartender of this tavern.”
“He lived here?”
The drunk nods.
“Yes. I worked here serving drinks for many years. This is my son,” he says, pointing to the bartender.
The young man shrugs and pats his father’s arm. The elder continues.
“His mother worked here as a whore. We were supposed to call them working girls but she was nothing like that, nothing like the girl we have now. She had a young boy, beautiful lad. I felt sorry for him. His mother brought the worst kind of filth with her. They hurt and beat on both her and her son but she never lifted a finger against them. One day, a drunk cut the kid up, cut him real bad. I pulled him from the boy. Cost me a piece of my ear to do it.”
He turns his head to reveal a chunk missing from the top of his right lobe.
“I thought that was the end of it. The boy was blind, his eyes slashed open. Nowhere else was he harmed. I cared for him till the bleeding stopped. That night the boy snuck out of the tavern and found the man. Slit his throat from ear to ear. Never knew how he did it. No one could prove anything but I knew he’d done the deed. I didn’t care either, the bastard deserved it. Prince stayed until he was thirteen. His mother died that year of pneumonia. Then one day he just left, no note or anything, just disappeared.”
He finishes and downs the rest of the whiskey.
“And he’s coming?”
John nods.
“When will he be here?” the bartender asks.
“Tomorrow at sunset. I’ll fight him then.”
The drunk reaches out and takes hold of John’s arm. His eyes have changed, no longer cross and shaken but narrowed and clear.
“You need help,” he says.
“I have to face him alone.”
John lays a bill upon the table. The barkeep stares at it for some time. He looks as though he has something to say, but he doesn't say it. He scrapes the money off the counter and pockets it.
“That should cover the cost of the room for tonight.”
“You want some company?” the bartender asks, nodding in the direction of the girl.
“I’m fine.”
“Very well. It’s nice to meet you, John. I’m Billy,” he says, shaking a thumb in the drunk’s direction, “This old coot here is Jed.”
The group exchanges handshakes. John pushes himself from the bar and heads for the stairs. On reaching his door he leans over the second floor railing and peers down over the bustle below. The girl in violet stares upwards, watching him as he watches her. She turns and the moment passes.
***
Prince rests upon his horse, listening to the bustle of the town ahead. Despite many years having passed he still recognizes the smells and sounds of his old home. He dismounts and squats in the dirt.
“Is it fate? Is it destiny that I return to very place I was born, possibly to die? Coincidence is for the haughty and the naïve, this was your plan all along. Do you watch? Is my filthy whore mother there with you, watching and laughing and joking, sharing your delight in my pain?”
He lies back, staring into the sky, seeing only darkness.
“You dare to torment me so but you will not laugh forever. I am not a fly upon the wall. I am no mere insect. I am Death. I am the bringer of destruction and chaos. And you, Father, shall not stop me. You shall not beat me. For as long as I am here I shall fight you. As long as I live you will hold nothing over me. Now is my time. I plan to embrace it.”
Prince’s haunted voice cackles through the fields.
***
The room is cozy, small but civilized. John sits upon the bed. The hinges squeak beneath his weight. Outside, the afternoon sun roars high. He removes his boots and shuts the curtains, dimming the sunlight that streams through. A poorly rolled cigarette sits on a dresser, an apparent gift for guests. John lifts the stick and sets a match to it. The paper burns quick and he coughs from the unaccustomed flavor. He breathes out, letting the thick smoke filter through the cracked window. He sighs and stubs the cigarette out on his tongue in mimic of a trick his father taught him, then tosses stub across the room into a trash bin.
John removes a bottle of whiskey from his bag followed by bandages and strips of cloth. Clutching the medical supplies under one arm and the bottle firmly in his free hand, he enters the bathroom.
John stares into the mirror and removes his shirt. His tanned chest contrasts with his bright sunburned neck. He pops the cap off the whiskey and pours the contents across his gash, grunting from the pain while his arm spasms beneath burning purification. He wraps a new strip of cloth around his wound and ties it. He observes his reflection a moment longer, yet again transformed, before exiting the bathroom.
John sits upon the edge of the bed and lies back against the firm mattress. He stares up at the ceiling and counts the holes in the wood. No sounds rise from the floor below. The pain in his shoulder has duller. He turns on his good side and closes his eyes, letting himself fall into slumber, the one place he hopes he is safe.
***
The fields are burning. Screams of unknown souls echo in the night. John stands alone in the middle of the cornfield. Sweat from the raging heat dampens his face. A child lies among the stalks. A bullet hole bores its way into the middle of his forehead leaving the back of his skull spewed across the earth. From the cornrows The Tall Man emerges atop a midnight horse.
“Hello John.”
“You—“
“Getting acquainted with another member of the deceased? I’m sure you’ll make friends quite quickly.”
“You bastard.”
“Even now death affects you,” The Tall Man says, “Open your eyes. You have only seen the power of death a short time, try living with it. Try seeing hundreds die before your eyes. Try waking every morning knowing you will murder an innocent. You grow to accept it. You grow to enjoy it.”
John spits in the dirt at the Rider’s feet. The Tall man laughs.
“So much fire in you! You’d have made one hell of a Rider. Such a shame you chose the righteous path, that is if you truly think what you do is righteous.”
“I do.”
The Tall Man leans against his horse and tips his hat. A snakelike smile slithers across his lips.
“How many have you killed? Think of all who’ve lost their lives to you, some not even by your hand. Take the young worker boy. You gave him false hope, hope that he would escape his torture. If it weren’t for you he would not be buried. What of Sonya and her tribe, do you think Prince let them live? He slaughtered them. I’m sure some escaped but if you hadn’t been hunting me none of them would have died. You’re no better than I.”
John stands his ground. He tries to hide his fear but his trembling legs threaten to buckle underneath.
“You liar.”
“They’re dead, John!” The Tall Man screams, “They’re all dead!”
John reaches for his revolver. The Tall Man draws first.
John stumbles back with the blast. Blood spills from his chest. He spits forth a mouthful of the blood that drowns his lungs. The Tall Man shoots him twice in the gut. He sinks to his knees and falls to the earth, eyes wide and staring.
***
John wakes with a shout, revolver drawn. The cold has returned. He shudders as he holsters his weapon and tries to regain control of his body. He lies still, longing for the touch of Rose. But Rose is dead, alone in a charred field, gone forever from this world. He sits up hugging himself and gasping for breath.
Outside, the sun is a large orange blob shadowed by the rising moon. Evening has come. John ceases shaking long enough to pull his clothes back on. He buttons his shirt and opens the door that separates his room from the rest of the tavern, not bothering to grab his boots or turn the lock.
Below, the tavern is almost empty. Billy sits behind the counter with a book in hand, eyes scanning yellowed pages. He glances up from the novel and nods to John before returning to the words. His father has gone, the poker players left. The two laughing men sit fast asleep at their tables, faces pressed into the countertops, drooling against the wood.
John makes his way down the stairs, taking his time as he goes, the soles of his feet pattering soft against the steps. He gives the barkeep a sheepish wave upon reaching the first floor landing.
“Can I help you, John?”
John tries to keep his cheeks from flushing. He stutters with the words.
“You, uh…you mentioned company?”
“Oh yes.”
Billy shoots him a sly smile then places his finger to his lips and lets out a shrill whistle.
“Jane! Jane, you got a customer!”
The door beside the bar swings open and the girl in violet burlesque enters. She pushes her blonde hair back, a look of annoyance splashed across her face. She crosses her arms and glances in the bartender’s direction, hips swung to the side, drumming her fingers against her bare skin.
“I was having dinner, Billy.”
“Hey, it’s your money.”
Jane stops and eyes John. Her face clears. She watches him for some time, scanning his form.
“I guess I’m finished.”
Jane straightens her dress. She grabs John by the shoulder and pulls him along with her. John turns back to see Billy shoot him a raised brow.
“What room, honey?”
“I’m guessing the only one occupied right now,” John replies.
“Smart guy, huh? Get in.”
Jane opens the room door and pushes John inside, shutting it behind her.
“Sit on the bed,” she says, voice stern and professional.
Her eyes betray her calamity. They sparkle like a precious stone.
“You got money?”
“Yeah—”
“It’s a dollar for a full night,” Jane replies, cutting him off.
John passes the girl a crumpled bill. Jane removes her small purse and places the money inside.
“So how we going to do this? You ever been with a working girl before?”
“Uh…no, not really,” John replies, face tinted with a swirl of red.
“Don’t worry, there’s a first time for everything.”
Jane reaches down and removes her stockings, tossing them across the room. She starts to undo her skirt but John grabs her hand.
“Stop,” he says.
“You want me to do it slowly?”
“No.”
“You want to do it?”
“No, just…stop for a second,” John whispers, “look, I don’t want to sleep with you.”
The woman eyes him with suspicion. Her gaze drifts back to the door that separates them from the rest of the tavern.
“What?”
“I just want the company.”
“You some kind of nut?”
“I just need the company, just for the night.”
Jane clicks her tongue against her teeth and stops. Her bright blue eyes shudder slightly, the fear in them vanished.
“Alright,” she says, “Okay, just let me get my nightgown.”
***
John wakes in the night with the familiar, crushing fear. Jane’s arm wraps around his chest. The warmth of her skin calms him. His chest rises and falls normal once more. The shaking fades.
“Bad dreams?” Jane asks.
Jane sits up, dressed in a modest but beautiful sleeping gown. The silk fabric drifts across her body. John lies in the same clothes he’d worn when they first met.
“Always.”
“What are they about?” Jane asks.
“A girl I knew.”
“What was her name?”
“Rose.”
Jane lies back, her hair spilling across the pillow, and stares up at the ceiling.
“Was she beautiful?”
“She was divine,” John replies.
“Did you love her?”
“I did.”
“And she loved you.”
“Yes.”
Jane turns on her side to face John and strokes his messy hair.
“I’m sorry," she says.
“Don’t be.”
The two lie without speaking. Crickets chirp beyond the window. John breaks the silence.
“Why do you do what you do?”
“I think you should go back to sleep, John.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Jane turns away. John watches her, knowing better than to continue with his questions. She speaks, back kept to him.
“I lost my family some time ago. Jed and Billy took me in. They’re kind of like family now. I worked in the bar for a while until I figured I’d make a lot more doing this. That’s really all there is to it."
John nods.
“I can tell you’re scared,” he says.
Jane lies quiet, offering no response. John turns away and shifts against the sheets. The sounds of the world fade.
***
John wakes to the sound of screaming. Night has fallen. Rays of silver moonlight pierce the thin curtains and illuminate the room. Muffled voices rise from the floor below.
John leaps to his feet and opens the door, grabbing his belt from the bed stand. One of the silver revolvers falls from a holster as he races down the stairs. He doesn’t bother to head back for it.
Billy lies on the floor holding his hand against a deep gash carved into his arm. A second cut crosses his cheek. Jed kneels beside him. Tables are upturned, mugs smashed, the two laughing men stand in the center of the fray. Dark splotches of red stain their eyes. The smaller one pins Jane’s arm behind her back and presses a knife to her throat. The giant raises a shoddy six-shooter above his head. A second pistol tucks into his belt.
“Where’s the money? Empty the register!”
Jed remains at his boy’s side.
“It’s open. Just take the money and go.”
The men fall silent as John steps into the middle of the tavern, revolver shifting between the two men. The giant sneers.
“Drop the gun, buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy,” John replies, “Let them go.”
“Nah, we’re taking this whore here, understand?”
“You hurt her and you’re dead.”
Jane struggles against the lanky man. Tears stream from her eyes. Bruises cover her pale face. Ribbons of torn cloth hang from her nightgown.
“Help me,” she whispers.
The man with the knife laughs and digs the blade into her throat just enough to draw a thin line of blood. His hand fondles her chest.
“Back up, buddy. Ya see we’re takin’ this here whore with us, gonna show her a fun time. Then, when we’re done, we might jus’ leave her bleedin’ in an alley stead of cuttin’ her up. That all depends on her and you. So back off. We both know you ain’t gonna fire.”
John looks back and forth between the two men. His face reveals nothing.
“I’m giving you one last chance, take the money and leave.”
The giant smiles. He turns to his partner.
“Jus’ kill her, Mark.”
“Jane, duck!” John screams.
Jane leans to the side as he fires. The redhead with the knife flies back, clutching his shoulder and screaming. John spins to face the stunned giant. The man’s gun goes off but his shot sails wide. John ducks down, steadying his aim, and pulls the trigger a second time. The man’s thumb disappears in a thick spray. John cocks the hammer again but the skinny man tackles him from the side, pulling him down across the blood-splattered floor. His revolver falls with him.
The man grabs wildly for John’s arm, trying to pin him, his hand scratching at his bare skin. John wrenches himself free and elbows his opponent twice in the face. The man’s nose breaks with a sickening snap. Two spurts of dark blood stain his collar. The man releases his hold, grasping his nose and shrieking from the pain. John forces the man to the ground, holding him in place with his knee buried in his chest, and slams his fists into the drunk’s flushed face twice more. The man twitches once before blacking out. John leaps to his feet and faces the giant, fists raised.
The giant holds the knife now. Its stained blade shines in the light. He paces to the side, jabbing forward randomly, taunting his opponent. He rushes John and lashes with reckless abandon. John sidesteps the man and draws his hunting knife, thrusting it into the man’s hip. The giant howls and falls against a table, teetering on shaky arms as he tries to rise once more. He reaches for the six-shooter on his belt. John drives his blade through the man’s palm, pinning him to the tabletop. The man shakes with shock and stares up at John. Dark blood pours from his wound as he tugs at the stuck blade.
John stands over the man. His hands shake from the rush.
“You should have left,” he says.
He strikes the giant across the face. The man slumps to the side, held up by the blade in his hand. John stands above his body, chest rising and falling each exhausted breath. He grasps his hunting knife by the handle and tears it from the table letting pinned man fall.
Jed and Billy sit watching him with wide eyes. Jane stands alone, her dress stained with the men’s blood. Her hands cover her heart as she steps towards John mouthing silent words. She stumbles. John rushes forward, catching her before she can fall.
Jane smiles and grasps John’s hand, squeezing it tight. Her head slumps against his chest as she succumbs to her exhaustion. John takes her up in his arms and stands before the aftermath. He turns to Jed and Billy.
“Jed, take care of your son, these men aren’t getting up anytime soon. If you want to, maybe tend to them, especially the one without the finger.”
Jed nods with dumb silence.
“I’m going to take care of Jane.”
Jed nods again. John approaches the stairs, speaking words of comfort to the unconscious girl. Jed calls after him.
“You’re a true Rider.”
“My father was a Rider,” John replies, “I am not.”
John turns and makes his way to his room holding the beaten girl in his arms.
***
Jane wakes. Her eyes adjust to the thin light of the room. A dark bruise forms against her cheek. A cut stretches across her brow. John dabs her face with a wet rag.
“How do you feel?”
Jane flinches and turns away. She knocks the rag from John’s hands and pushes him back, scuttling to the edge of the bed. John doesn’t follow.
“I won’t hurt you,” he whispers.
“You’re a Rider.”
“No. My father was. I’m not.”
Jane leaps from the bed.
“The Riders killed my family,” she says, voice soft and broken, on the verge of tears, “how do I know you’re not one?”
John grabs her by the hand and pulls her to him. She lowers her head but he pushes her chin up. Her face is bruised and swollen, her lip split. John passes a hand through her shining hair.
“Look at me. I will not hurt you. I hunt a Rider, a man named Anton.”
“The man who burns the corn?” she asks.
John nods. With sudden movement Jane leans forward and embraces him. He holds her close, feeling her breath upon his neck.
“Please, make him pay. Make him pay for what he’s done.”
“I will.”
John leads her to the bed. He lays her back and dabs her face, washing away the powder and makeup. It glows despite the bruises. John opens his bag and removes a needle and thread. He quickly stitches the cut over her left eye, then bandages.
“Thank you,” Jane says.
“Don’t worry.”
Jane sits up, eyes wide.
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?”
John glances down at his right arm. A patch of blood blossoms along the surface. John removes his shirt and lets it drop to the ground below. The gunshot wound has opened. Blood drips slowly down.
“Let me see,” Jane whispers as she studies John’s arm.
He pulls away, stooping to pick up his shirt and supplies.
“It’s okay,” he insists as he drops the contents upon the bed.
“Let me see.”
“I’m fine.”
Jane grabs John and shoves him back onto the bed. John tries to sit up but she pushes him down, her delicate hands surprisingly strong.
“You going to let me see your arm?” she asks, holding him in place. Her hair spills over her chest.
“Okay.”
John sits up. A small smile spills across his lips. Jane takes his needle and thread and begins to sew, carefully looping the thread through his skin and pulling it tight. John hisses in pain. The minutes pass but he sits without protest and lets the girl work. She soon finishes, cutting the thread with her teeth.
“There. Good as new.”
John smoothes out the stitches with the tip of his finger.
“I never thought the woman I carried over the threshold would be a woman I paid to keep me company the first time I met her.”
Jane giggles. The two stare at one another. She sits up without warning and kisses John’s lips. John turns his head.
“I’m sorry,” Jane whispers, rubbing her hands together in nervous shame.
“It’s okay.”
“I really am.”
“Don’t be. It’s just…”
Tears fall from John’s eyes. He covers his face and curses his weakness.
“I just miss her so much.”
“I understand.”
Jane wraps her arms around John. She holds him close as he weeps, still trying to hide his tears.
“He took everything from us,” John says, “The Tall Man killed our families.”
“I know.”
“He won’t get away.”
“I know.”
Jane places her hand on John’s chest and feels the beating of his heart. Together they wait in silence and watch the clouds drift beyond the moon. The two orphaned children sit alone, rocking back and forth, forever united by the forces that tore their lives apart.
(Congrats, you're roughly halfway through Animal)
