by Andy Monk
“What is this stuff?” Sye heard himself ask again, his hand already moving towards his jacket in order to deposit the bottle in the inside pocket.
The Mayor smiled, his eye roamed and his fingers continued to drum out a beat upon the table.
“My boy, this is, quite simply, the sweetest candy anyone ever did taste and it’ll show you a whole new world…”
The Gunslinger
He hadn’t quite known what to say to Molly.
He’d never talked to a living soul about, as he tended to think of it, his injury, since he’d been well enough to ride away from his brother’s farmstead in search of Severn and his men thirteen years ago. To have to discuss it with two people in the same day seemed, somehow, unfair.
He’d lain in his cell after the Sheriff and Blane had left and stared at the ceiling, his mind a complete blank. The Sheriff had returned in the afternoon to announce he was free to go and that he’d had to let people know exactly why he hadn’t raped Emily Godbold.
Shenan’s eyes had slipped to the floor at that point, “It’s the only way to avoid a lynching, sorry…”
The Sheriff had returned his gun belt and boots and warned him to be careful, there were probably a few hot heads in town the gossips had yet to corner.
He’d been surprised to find Molly waiting for him upstairs, ignoring the smirks and silent stares of the deputies, save for Blane whose features didn’t seem capable of stretching to such extremes, he’d stood before her and felt vaguely like a naughty child who’d been sent to the headmistress to explain just why he’d been such a deceitful little boy.
He’d started to say something, one of those mumbling, stumbling sentences you have no exact idea how you’re going to finish, but Molly had reached out and gently squeezed his wrist.
“I heard… It’s ok...”
Of course, it wasn’t ok. Nothing had been ok for so long he couldn’t even remember how it felt when things had been ok.
But it was enough, all the same.
*
Molly insisted on taking him home. When he tried to go to his room in the saloon, she was having none of it.
“Best you keep out of the way of those cock-sucking assholes,” she insisted, wincing immediately and putting her hand to her mouth, “shit, shit, shit… sorry, that was dumb, even for me.”
Amos had stared at her for a moment, then laughed.
*
They’d made it back to Molly’s house without any of the erstwhile lynch mob who’d fallen out of the gossip loop taking a pot shot at them.
Molly had made coffee and cut some bread and cheese, as much for something to do as through hunger Amos suspected. They’d eaten in silence at the kitchen table and she’d cleared away the mugs and plates the moment it was finished.
She was feeling awkward. He should go; she shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.
“I knew you didn’t do it,” she said finally, not looking back at him from the sink.
Ah, that was it…
“I know.”
She turned back to face him, leaning back against the sink, a cloth turning in her hands.
“Actually that’s bullshit, when Shenan was reciting what had happened to the poor girl… I thought… I-”
“It’s only natural, under the circumstances.”
“I feel, shitty. You’re the only one in this town… I hate the fact that I could even consider that you... were... capable...”
“Molly, it doesn’t matter. You stood by me, that’s what counts. Sheesh, you even put a gun in your panties for me…”
Molly snorted a half-laugh and looked at her feet, blushing a little “It wasn’t in my panties, you clearly weren’t paying proper attention.”
“I… have no answer to that.”
Molly looked up through the long unkempt hair that had fallen about her face before stifling a yawn.
“Shit I’m tired,” she sighed, folding up the little cloth and hanging it over the side of the sink, “I barely got any sleep last night. I’m going to go to bed.”
Amos nodded and begun to rise, “Sure I’ll just-”
“Come with me, please.”
Amos stopped.
“I can’t, you know…”
“Just sleep with me.”
“I can’t,” Amos insisted, sinking back down onto his chair.
“Is there something wrong with your arms?”
“No,” Amos frowned.
“You can put them around me then, can’t you?”
“Why would you even want me to? I can’t-”
“Yes I know you can’t fuck me! I worked that out. That’s not what I’m asking for.”
“Then what?”
“Jesus, are you really this dim?”
Amos blinked at her.
“You make me feel safe Amos; I’ve spent my life following men, violent idiots for the most part, because I thought they could make me safe, that they could keep this shitty world away from me. I was so desperate to feel safe I ended up with men who beat me, abused me and treated me like crap. Even Tom, who was the best of a sorry lot, dragged me from one shit hole to the next, following his hair-brained schemes or running away from the mess they caused.”
She stood looking down at him, her arms crossed in front of her, almost hugging herself as she added, “None of them made me safe. My whole life has been spent hiding the fact that I’m so goddamned afraid, hiding behind a bottle and a fast mouth.”
She took a half-step towards him, “But you make me feel safe, even amongst all this shit with the Mayor. You make me feel safe. I don’t care about anything else.”
He was supposed to stand up and hold her. He knew that much. He remembered that much. But that was different from being able to do it.
“Molly, I can’t keep you safe… I couldn’t keep Megan safe. I…
“I know you can’t keep me safe. I’m not stupid. Sometimes the shit this fucking world throws at you is too much for anyone. But you make me feel safe and I can’t ask for more than that.”
“And what about me? What about what I want?”
“I’m not holding a gun to your head Amos, yet you keep helping me… I thought… shit, how the hell am I supposed to even know what you want?” She took another half-step forward, “What the fuck do you want?”
“I want my wife, my cock and my life back.”
Molly pursed her lips as her head tilted slightly to one side, “Nothing I can do about the first two hun, but the last one… who knows.”
She held out a hand across the table, “Come sleep with me, Mr Mysterio…”
Her hand stayed there, hovering in mid-air, her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted, her red hair falling in tangles about her face. Just like Megan’s had. He reached out, seized her hand and let her pull him up.
Till that moment, he hadn’t even realised he’d been drowning.
*
He’d insisted he kept his pants on, which Molly had agreed to. When he’d also insisted that she dressed appropriately too she’d raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“What the fuck is appropriate?”
“Something that isn’t… well… revealing.”
Her eyebrow cranked up another notch.
“I haven’t been… close to a woman in thirteen years…”
“You think you might get carried away?”
“I’m not entirely… dysfunctional.”
“Oh.”
Molly smiled.
Amos squirmed.
They were in her bedroom, Molly was sitting on the bed looking up at him, he was hovering by the door and wondering whether the Sheriff could be persuaded to lock him up again.
“I, well… it’s-”
Molly crossed her legs and started to take off her shoes.
“I think I’d better wait outside.”
“You have a problem with feet?”
Amos shrugged and hurried back onto the landing where it was shadowy, cool and devoid of women undressing.
/> “Fuck…” he muttered under his breath as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He shoved his hands into his pockets, they were shaking.
This was ridiculous.
How many armed men had he faced down in the last few years? He honestly couldn’t remember. He’d never once felt fear or anxiety or gut-wrenching uncertainty. The prospect of sharing a bed with a pretty woman, on the other hand, made all three churn about inside him like rancid milk on the back of a wagon.
He hadn’t touched a woman in thirteen years. The last time he’d kissed a woman had been as he rolled out of bed the morning that Megan had died. There hadn’t seemed much point, though it wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He sometimes thought it would have been kinder if Severn had castrated him properly; he’d sliced most of his cock off, but had left his balls. If he’d taken them maybe he would have just grown fat, lazy and indifferent like a neutered tomcat. Instead, he’d been left with his desires, but no means to fulfil them, save with a scarred lump of tissue that ached horribly if he became aroused.
“I’m decent!” Molly called.
Part of him simply wanted to sneak out; it would save them both a lot of trouble and heartache in the long run. He couldn’t keep her safe and he definitely couldn’t make her happy, while she could only remind him of what he had lost and what he could never have again.
He shook his head, cursed himself for a fool and went back into the bedroom.
All he could see of Molly were the fingers that gripped the edge of the bed sheet that she’d pulled up over her head and a few messy ginger curls.
“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”
There was a muffled giggle from beneath the sheet.
Molly had pulled the curtains shut, but the sun was still up and they were thin enough to allow a soft diffuse light into the room.
“Start with your boots,” Molly suggested peeking over the sheet.
Amos tentatively sat on the corner of the bed and did what he was told, he heard Molly shuffling onto her side, her back turned to him.
“I sorry if I’m being an ass,” Amos sighed, pulling off his left boot with a grimace, “this is… difficult for me…”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know it shouldn’t be, this should be such a simple thing, you kind of take it for granted, not sex, but just being close to another human being. It should be easy, but…” he pulled off his other boot and placed them together at the foot of the bed.
He stood up and tossed his jacket over the back of the chair where Molly had draped her dress. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt. His fingers seemed to have become fat and rebellious and he fumbled the buttons a few times before he could take it off. After he’d slung it over his jacket he took off his gun belt, placed it carefully on the floor and then pushed it underneath the bed with his foot.
Molly still had her back turned.
He peeled back the sheets; she was wearing a long off-white nightgown. He was faintly surprised at the twinge of disappointment that brought. He should take his pants off really, but there was no way he could do that.
Instead, he sat on the bed then slowly swung his legs up and laid down on his back next to Molly.
“Thank you for your kindness,” he whispered, placing a tentative hand between her shoulder blades, “I do not understand it, but it means the world to me. Really.”
Her only reply had been a soft and gentle snore.
*
The room was dark when he awoke and, to his surprise, Molly’s head was resting upon his chest.
He wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened. He had an urge to shoo her away like an over indulged cat from his lap; instead he counted to ten and listened to his thumping heart.
This is what it feels like to be normal.
He remembered, vaguely, how it had felt to wake up with Megan curled next to him in the darkness. Warm, soft and quiet, the smell of flesh, sweat, linen, the touch of her breath on his skin, downy hair spread over his chest. It had felt safe, as if the darkness and a warm body could protect you from the world beyond; a sanctuary built of small intimacies.
His arm was going numb beneath her.
Amos winced and gently shrugged Molly off as he rolled onto his side, his back to her. She mumbled something before settling herself against him, her arm looping over him, her hand resting on his stomach.
Her words were muffled by sleep so he couldn’t be sure, but it sounded a little like, “Mish’d ya Tom…”
*
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the stares after a bit,” Molly whispered, slipping her arm through his, “I did, kinda…”
“What about the sniggering?”
“That might take longer.”
“Suppose so... I could just shoot at them. That might stop it.”
“You’ve already avoided one lynching; best not push your luck.”
“I did say at them. I’d only actually hit them if they start pointing too…”
Molly thought about it for a minute before shrugging, “Fair enough.”
He felt her warmth and kindness coming off her in gentle ripples that made his arm tingle where she was touching him. There was pity too, inevitably, but only a trace, and it wasn’t why she wanted to be with him. He looked away sharply and blinked a couple of times.
It was the first time they’d ventured out of Molly’s house since the Sheriff had decided it was safe enough to release him. To ensure his safety the Sheriff had made sure pretty much the whole town heard, precisely and explicitly, why he couldn’t have raped Emily Godbold.
They reached the Corner Park, it was evening and the sun was sinking towards the distant horizon. There were a few people around; a grey-haired couple glanced their way. Whispers were whispered. He ignored them.
“Why’d we come here?” Amos asked, as they came to a halt on the scrubby-grassed slope and looked out to the west.
“Because it’s beautiful.”
He supposed. Amos puckered his lips. He didn’t see a lot of beauty in the world anymore, maybe something had happened in his brain after Severn and his men had left him for dead. Where others stopped and stared at the view, he just saw grass, trees, clouds, rocks in randomly configured patterns.
Sometimes he thought he was missing out.
“Yes… it is,” he said eventually, trying to sound like he meant it.
Molly was beautiful, though he was only even sure of that because she looked so much like Megan, and he remembered how beautiful she’d been well enough.
They walked a little further in silence to where a teenage boy was pinning a handbill to a wooden signpost, on top of older sun-faded flyers.
SUMMER CARNIVAL
It declared in bold red lettering. Once the boy was satisfied he turned and headed back up the slope. He glanced at them, but nothing held his attention and his pace quickly accelerated to a trot, a canvas satchel slapping against his thigh as he ran.
“They have one every year,” Molly said, flicking hair from her eyes. The wind was starting to pick up.
“Good?”
She shrugged, “Dunno, never went.”
“Sounds like one of the highlights of the town calendar?”
“Yeah, it’s about as good as it gets here. Tom and I went to the saloon instead. It was easier to get a drink than normal; Monty was even pleased to see us given there weren’t many people around for Tom to get in a brawl with.”
They stood in silence, Amos let his eyes slide from the flyer to the view across the plains; grass, sky and gold fringed clouds glowing from the sun’s last light. No, he still couldn’t see it.
“I hope you’ll both be coming to our little Carnival?” A voice announced from behind them. Molly gave a slight start, but Amos just looked back at the Mayor whose white suit was almost shining in the soft warm light of the setting sun.
“I’ll put it in my diary,” Amos replied.
The Mayor ambled over to stand beside them, taking off his derby and ru
nning a palm quickly over his greased back hair as he squinted at the sun. Amos could feel Molly tense, wanting to shy away from him, but too stubborn to show that she was afraid.
“You be sure to do that, come along, it’ll be a helluva day,” the Mayor replied finally, replacing his hat, “they’ll be clowns and jugglers, games and rides when the carney comes to town. There’ll even be a freak show. You’ll love it.”
Molly tensed; he could sense the cussing brewing up inside her.
“Go sit down for a minute,” Amos nodded towards one of the benches, “I want a quick word with the Mayor.”
She started to protest, but the Mayor cut her short.
“Yes, run along for a bit Mrs McCrea while we have a quick chat, man to man you might say,” he glanced at Amos, “well, almost.”
“You really are a remarkably unpleasant man,” Molly hissed, before hitching up the hems of her skirts and stomping off to plonk herself down on the nearest bench. Amos didn’t think he’d ever seen her quite so restrained.
“What do you want?” He demanded, turning back to the Mayor.
“Oh, just making sure that there are no hard feelings after all that unpleasantness.”
“You mean when you wanted to hang me for something I didn’t do?”
“Yes… but the girl said it was you, why wouldn’t we believe her? We weren’t to know she was under the spell of Preacher Stone were we?”
“It seems unlikely…”
“Yes it does rather, a man of the cloth and all, but William Stone was an extremely sick man, he tried not to show it, but he was dying, rotting from the inside. That can change a man.”
“Perhaps.”
“Anyway, we’ll never know, he was found hanging from a tree out by the Kransy Ranch.”
Amos stared at the man, trying to get some sense of him, but like before he got nothing but a dark echoing cavern, inside which something was hiding and watching…
“I hadn’t heard.”
“Terrible business. The Judas Tree they call it, God alone knows why, but seems pretty clear why Preacher Stone rode out there to kill himself.”
“It is?”
“He betrayed his God, he used his position to abuse a girl and then, for reasons best known to himself, persuaded her to implicate you.”