by Andy Monk
“Mistaken identity. She was scared, terrified, it was dark… understandable.”
“But we need to find someone for this Sheriff. The town will get… twitchy otherwise.”
“You think? They seem to live with all those kids who go missing.”
The Mayor shrugged, “Kids run away Sheriff. Always have, always will. Run away from abuse, from authority, for a better life over the horizon where they think there won’t be chores or responsibility. Where life might be better. Kids are full of shit. There’s no mystery, no threat, but a girl raped and beat half to death. That’s different. We need to give them answer.”
“Like we did with Nancy Klass?”
“Nancy… Klass…” the Mayor turned the words over in his mouth “…yes of course, like we did with Nancy Klass.”
“She was beaten with a belt too, as I recall…”
The Mayor twitched his shoulders, “It was a long time ago Sheriff, these things happen from time to time, even in peaceful little towns like ours… this time we’ll have to make sure the culprit doesn’t get away.”
“I suppose…”
Had Donny Bildt really gotten away? He’d often wondered.
“Well, I’m sure your enquiries will be thorough,” the Mayor slowly pushed himself to his feet “…and when you’re done bring me someone we can hang for this.”
The Sheriff didn’t stand, “I’ll talk to the family again, something isn’t right there.”
“Right?”
“How do you sleep through a beating and a rape like that? Kate Godbold reckons she did, but it ain’t that big a house.”
“You think she’s involved?”
“Seems unlikely, but you never know. She’s lying about something.”
The Mayor looked down at him as he replaced his hat, “Take my word for it Sheriff, being something of an expert in these matters, I very much doubt Mrs Godbold has a cock either.”
The Sheriff didn’t bother to smile or to rise.
The Mayor paused at the door, “Have you released Amos yet?”
“No, he’d be lynched. I’ll have to speak to Ash Godbold and put the word about that he couldn’t have done it before I let him out. I don’t want a murder to have to deal with too.”
“Yes, probably best. Be sure to let everybody know exactly why he couldn’t have done it…” the Mayor said after a moment’s thought “…for his own sake.”
“Not something most men would want to be public knowledge.”
“Ridicule and sniggers are preferable to being hanged… and there’s nothing to keep him here is there? Once he’s left Hawker’s Drift far behind his… reduced circumstances will be his little secret once again.” The Mayor gave a chuckle then, like a man who’d suddenly realised things were going to work out all right after all.
Shenan watched him breeze out of his office, passing Molly McCrea without a glance. Molly was sitting by the door, her hands folded in her lap trying hard not to look worried.
“No,” Shenan muttered, “he’s got nothing to keep him here at all…”
The Preacher
The tree was unremarkable in every respect apart from its existence.
The grass stretched out in every direction, swaying in soft green swells, other than the tree and the grass there was nothing else to be seen. Just why or how this lone tree had grown here Preacher Stone couldn’t imagine; he was just grateful for something to rest his aching back against.
He had left town before dawn and had ridden hard all day, his horse was exhausted, but she was free now, as he soon would be. He wanted to be as far away from the town and its inhabitants as possible, far away from their prying questions.
He just wanted to be left alone until he died.
His stomach was worse than ever, without the candy to take away his pain it felt like glowing embers were crackling away deep inside him. Then there was the other pain. The one that came from craving that black poison, the one that made his flesh spasm and his heart race, made his eyes ache and his tongue throb.
He sipped from one of the canteens he had brought, the water tasted warm and leathery. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d brought food and water. He’d die quicker without them. Perhaps he just wanted to see if his soul could somehow be cleansed out here away from the rest of humanity, away from the candy, away from the Mayor.
Not a task he was likely to accomplish in the few days he had left, but he had nothing else to offer. So he would walk into the west, he would pray and read his bible and he would look for some kind of redemption on his pilgrimage to the grave.
His horse was grazing on the rich grass, he should slap her rump and send her back to town, but he couldn’t face the prospect of climbing all the long way back up to his feet again. He’d stripped off the saddle and gear; she was free now, like he would be again soon.
The sun was a molten ball on the western horizon and he sat with his back against the rough bark of the improbable tree watching it slip away. Tomorrow he would walk with it at his back and not stop until it sunk into the west again. Would he live that long? He had food and water, it was hot, but not unbearably so; however, he was old and sick, so there were no more guarantees.
He felt no fear at the thought; he would go to his God and await judgement. He had been a weak and foolish man and he feared he might have done a terrible thing, but now he was doing all that he possibly could. He was walking away from whatever he had done and from whatever he might do if he stayed and slipped further into the thrall of that sick black candy till there was nothing left of him at all.
There was food in his bag, but he was not hungry, just tired. There was a blanket roll, maybe he would lay it out and use the saddle as a pillow. He would not take them further, so perhaps he should just curl up beneath the tree and listen to the grass and the insects and the wind in the boughs above him. Maybe then his sleep would be dreamless and peaceful again, like it used to be.
He closed his eyes, just for a minute.
*
The stars greeted him when he opened his eyes. Had he ever seen so many before? He supposed he must have, but he couldn’t remember. His stomach rumbled with hunger, as well as pain, his throat was dry and his neck ached. He ignored them all and stared at the stars instead, their cold light bathing him and heralding his stairs to heaven.
“The stars can make you feel quite humble…”
Preacher Stone gave out a strangled cry as he turned to see the Mayor sitting cross-legged next to him looking up at the sky. He turned slowly to examine the Preacher.
“…so I’ve been told.”
“How… how did you find me?”
“Oh, I keep a close eye on my little flock Billy; you can’t get away from me that easily you know. Not once you’ve drunk my candy anyhow.”
He looked around; it was full night now, the grass pale and eerie in the starlight. There was no sign of his horse, or any other.
“You couldn’t have followed me…”
“Trust me, you have absolutely no inkling as to what I can and cannot do,” he leant in a little towards the Preacher, close enough for him to smell the faintly sickly sweet scent of perfumed smoke he often carried.
The Preacher wanted to run away, but he’d been sitting a long time and his body ached. If he tried to get up, he’d probably just fall flat on his face and have to crawl through the grass. Which wouldn’t get him far. Instead, he sat and felt himself pinned against the tree, knowing there was nowhere he could go to escape the gaze of the Mayor’s restless eye.
“I just want to go,” he said finally, in a weak, faltering voice, “please…”
“Is Hawker’s Drift so terrible? Frankly I’m disappointed in you… I’ve worked so hard to hold this town together. To make it safe.”
“Safe from what?”
The Mayor swept his hand airily towards the sky, “There are more things in heaven and… oh, you know how it goes Billy. Not to mention the renegades and outlaws that infest the land of course. It can get qu
ite dangerous out here.”
“You don’t seem too concerned?”
“No need to worry about me ol’ son. I’m tougher than I look,” he clicked his teeth together like a dog snapping at a bone and let out a little chuckle.
Preacher Stone rested his head back against the tree, his heart was thumping and he felt light-headed.
“I’m dying…” he whispered.
“Of course you are.”
“Then leave me in peace.”
“I’ll be leaving soon enough, you know how it is, errands to run, chores to do, people to see. No rest for the wicked, you can be sure about that.”
Preacher Stone closed his eyes and prayed for the strength to resist the urge that writhed inside him to beg the Mayor for a little black bottle.
“I have a small problem,” the Mayor said, his voice bright and matter of fact, “you see we were all set to hang that Amos chap for raping Emily Godbold and – would you believe it – it turns out he has the absolute best cast in fucking iron alibi you can imagine. Which is all rather inconvenient, because he’s a man badly in need of hanging.”
Preacher Stone’s head flopped to one side; he managed to half open his eyes and ask, “Why?”
“Details Billy! Details you need not worry your balding, liver-spotted little head about, just trust me, some men are trouble, just born trouble. And only two things you can do with men of trouble; you either keep em very close or send em a long, long way away. Mr Amos is proving unresponsive to both options.”
“So who did rape Emily?” The Preacher asked, his voice sounded like slush to his own ears and he felt a coldness creeping through him, a coldness that had no place in a man’s bones on a warm summer’s night.
“Why…” the Mayor exclaimed with a smile of surprised enlightenment “…it turns out it was you all along! Who would have thought it eh?”
“I-”
“Ssssh now Billy don’t worry if you can’t remember. That’s just one of the side effects of my candy, it can make people forget what they’ve done and even remember things they haven’t. It cakes your soul Billy and I can sniff out the scent of it that seeps from your pores, it’s quite the smell I can tell you. It’s very useful stuff…” he leant in again and whispered with more than a hint of pride “…I squeeze it from my own black teats you know, it really is the Devil’s brew…”
He felt a distant tide of panic, had he really hurt that girl? It was a terrible thing, but he found after a few moments the horror slipped away as he stared into the Mayor’s eye that had grown still. It didn’t matter. What was done was done, he was dying…
“You know what they call this place, don’t you?”
Preacher Stone could manage only the tiniest shake of his head.
“They call it the Judas Tree. Don’t ask me why, there are somethings even I don’t know, but it’s quite the perfect place for a remorseful old rapist to hang himself. Don’t you think?”
“I didn’t…”
“Now, now… of course you did Billy. You remember, don’t you? Just look into my eyes and you will…”
The Mayor reached up and pulled off his eye patch. Preacher Stone had always assumed that there was nothing but scar tissue or a dead milky white eye underneath.
But it turned out it wasn’t that at all, there was something else entirely.
As he stared into it, transfixed, he slowly remembered that girl, naked and bleeding beneath him as he fucked her, wriggling and begging, thrashing and fighting, he saw his bony old hand clamped over her mouth to shut her up. He felt shame and excitement, disgust and arousal as the memories flooded his mind, a torrent of black water sweeping away everything in its path. Tears trickled down his cheeks and his throat tightened.
“No…”
“Oh yes Billy… you were a very bad boy…” the Mayor gently took his hand and squeezed it “…there’s no need to worry though old man. I’m going to make everything right. Luckily, I just so happen to have some rope with me…”
The Farmer
Sye sat perched over his coffee; chin cupped in his hand as he leant on the table and stared out of the window at the people strolling around Pioneer Square.
The town appeared to have returned to normal now the prospect of an imminent hanging had receded. Cece seemed to enjoy a comfortable familiarity with Amos that he didn’t care for at all and the news that the stranger had raped Emily Godbold and would be soon dangling from the town gallows had cheered him up immensely following the disappointment of his ride with Cece.
He’d known the gunslinger was trouble from the moment he’d seen him, but Cece had been oblivious, some girls were drawn to rough, dangerous men, but he’d hoped Cece was different. The whole business of bumping into him at the Mayor’s ranch. That had to be more than coincidence, didn’t it?
Had she just been using him as a patsy? A cover to meet up with Amos? He didn’t know and couldn’t work it out, but then she was a girl and, therefore, her motives and behaviour were far beyond the knowing of a rational mind like his.
Still, when he’d heard the news his immediate reaction had been one of relief; if she was interested in Amos than surely the scales would now fall from her eyes. Instead, she’d adamantly insisted he was innocent.
Sye sipped his coffee. It was cold. He blinked, just how long had he been sitting here thinking about Cece? Too long he realised, though that was how he frittered away most of his time these days. His chores were backing up on the farm too.
He glanced towards the counter and caught Rosa’s eye, ordering another coffee with a nod at his empty mug.
His attention slipped back outside, he supposed he was hoping Cece would pop out for a stroll and he could accidentally bump into her. Now Amos wasn’t going to be hung she might be in a better mood (even if it hadn’t helped his day) still, on the bright side if she had been interested in him then that would be finished now. Even he couldn’t manage to lose a girl to a man with no cock. Could he?
But then what did it matter, she only thought of him as a friend. Her life was too messy for anything else. Whatever that meant.
Another coffee was deposited in front of him and he was about to thank Rosa when the nattily-dressed figure of the Mayor eased himself into the chair opposite.
“You have a day job now?” Sye asked, eying the coffee the Mayor slid across the table to him.
The Mayor smiled, placed his elbows on the table and spread his long fingers out in front of him. “So, young man, tell me how things are going?”
“Things? Going?”
The Mayor’s smile didn’t falter.
“With the lovely Miss Jones, our little songbird?”
“Oh… y’know.”
“That doesn’t sound… encouraging.”
“I don’t think she’s really interested in me.”
“Don’t be so easily put off. Some women like to be pursued.”
“They do?”
“Most definitely… though it can be tricky telling the difference between a girl that’s playing hard to get and one that’s genuinely not interested.”
“Then how do you know what to do?”
“It’s a life skill young man.”
“It’s one I haven’t got then,” Sye went back to staring into his coffee.
The Mayor looked thoughtful and cracked his knuckles. Sye tried not to wince at the little popping noises.
“Perhaps there’s something I could do to help matters along.”
Sye looked up. “You’d put a good word in for me?”
“A word? I doubt anything an old codger like me could say would really change matters.”
“Oh…”
“I can do something much more useful though.”
“You can?”
“Most definitely.”
The Mayor stopped cracking his knuckles and opened his right hand. Sye hadn’t realised the Mayor could do conjuring tricks too; a small black bottle lay in his palm.
“What’s that?”
“Well, we could call it many things, but in this instance let us call it a love potion.”
“A love potion?” Sye repeated, his nose wrinkling and eyebrows rising at the same time.
“Don’t look so sceptical young man. A lesser man might take offence. I’m not talking about some county fair quackery here. This is, very much, the real deal.”
“Does it work?”
The Mayor placed the little bottle on the table between them.
“Only one way to find out.”
There was something compelling about the little bottle, the glass looked extraordinarily smooth, as if it weren’t really made of glass at all, but something far more exotic. Sye wanted to reach out and run his fingers over it to see how it felt upon his skin.
“What do I need to do?” He asked, feeling stupid. This had to be some kind of a joke on the Mayor’s part. Didn’t it?
“Just get her to drink some of this. Only a little mind, it’s very potent, a few drops are quite enough.”
“What should I tell her it is?” Sye noticed his hand was edging towards the bottle.
The Mayor sighed, “You don’t tell her anything. Just put a couple of drops into her drink when she isn’t looking.”
“And… that’s it?”
The Mayor drummed his fingers on the table edge and smiled.
“And then what?”
“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
Sye found his hand had curled around the bottle. He’d expected the glass to be cold, but it was curiously warm. Perhaps it had been in the Mayor’s pocket for a while.
The Mayor leaned forward as his voice dropped down a notch, “Just give it to her young man and she will swoon for you… just trust me. With that inside her, she will do anything you want her to. She’ll be all yours Sye. All yours.”
The Mayor’s voice was slow and compelling. He was talking nonsense of course. He might only be a farm boy, but he wasn’t a simpleton, he knew damn well giving a girl a few drops of any potion wasn’t going to make her fall in love with him. But even so…