Red Star Sheriff

by Timothy Purvis

  “You didn’t hear, Lilybell? Kern Michaels and his gang are dead! We’re free!”

  Gretchen laughed in Lilybell’s face causing spit to fly into her eye and then turned to her friends and walked away. Lilybell scowled and wiped her eye.

  Whore…

  She followed the throngs of people down the dusty streets to see what had happened. Smoke was rising into the air somewhere beyond the main street. Out near the tavern. Her brow furrowed. She hated this town. Hated the people in it. All save for her mother. Who’d brought them here out of fear of her grandfather. But her mother was dead now. Dead because of this damned town. But, even so, she supposed she had to be happy about the news. The last several days had been hell. Probably wouldn’t fix how abusive her foster home was, though.

  “He’s dead…” Lilybell whispered and saw a familiar figure crossing the street where the people were congregating. It was the woman who’d saved her from Kern’s thugs. The Woman-In-Red.

  Lilybell made her way down the long street to the far side of town. Dozens of the citizenry were whooping it up, carrying on, waving their hats, praising the Woman-In-Red. To Lilybell, she seemed broken and hurt. Yet still walked with the gait of a hardened gunslinger. And that same thrill from earlier settled in Lilybell’s gut, causing her to quicken her pace. To meet this heroic woman who put her life on the line for them was the only driving force in her body.

  However, there wasn’t any way to get any closer to the Woman-In-Red. There were just too many people clustered up in the middle of the streets. But she could see the mayor (that coward who’d hidden himself away during all of this) rushing up to the woman who’d mounted her horse near the eastern entrance and was angling out of town. Lilybell stood across the street from them and watched on her tippy-toes, mesmerized and awed.

  “Miss! Miss!” the mayor cried out and stopped in front of the woman. She offered up an expression that said ‘hurry it up’. “You’ve done us all a great favor! I’d be honored to offer you the badge of sheriff given that damned Kern wiped out our lawmen when he rode in! We need strong, law minded individuals such as yourself taking care of business!”

  The Woman-In-Red frowned at the smiling mayor. “Ah’m glad ah could be o’help, sir. But this was about a justice no one else seemed willing to dispense. Ah wish ya luck in findin’ a sheriff, though.”

  She began to ride away but he stepped in front of her horse again. “Well… uh… oh, at least tell us the name of our brave hunter!”

  A pregnant pause, then, “Aidele Wilson.”

  “Three cheers for Ms. Aidele Wilson!” the mayor shouted to the crowd. “Hip hip!”

  “Hooray!” the crowd joined in and then shouted twice more as the Woman-In-Red shook her head and rode onward. Lilybell took a step back, surprised. The woman was heading her way.

  Lilybell looked up at her and caught her eyes as she rode by. “Thank you. I’ll never forget what you’ve done here!”

  The Woman-In-Red tugged on the brim of her hat, “Ma’am.”

  And with that, the woman kicked her mount into motion and headed out of town. Lilybell watched her silhouette against the reddening sky. Waited until the Woman-In-Red had disappeared into the distant Sutures beyond. And still stood there long after the townspeople had dispersed. ‘Justice… no one else seemed willing to dispense…’ That’s what she said. One day… One day soon… I’m going to be just like her. I’m going to dispense the justice nobody else seems willing to deliver. I’ll be the one they will be afraid to take advantage of. I’ll be the one that makes ‘em run the other way. Because justice, true justice, is what keeps the monsters awake at night…

  CHAPTER TWO: HOMECOMING

  LONG SHADOWS GREETED Aidele as she rode through the front gate of Grandfather’s ranch. A cool wind caused her tended wounds to throb achingly. They would have to be fully dressed, and soon, she reckoned. The pain was getting so bad it was as if someone had spent the last week massaging her with a meat tenderizer. Based on her tattered shirt, she looked the part too. She reached up to the back of her neck, hair a tangled mess and steeped in sweat, and rubbed. A bead of sweat rolled into her eye and she winced.

  “Gawddamnit!” The palm of her hand went up. “Fuck! After ah put ya up, boy, ah’m gittin’ a nice, long bath. Ah smell like ah’ve been rollin’ in a slaughterhouse.”

  Mesmerize whinnied as she brought him into his pen. “Don’ worry, ah’m gonna take care o’ya first. Whew! Think ya need a bath too.”

  Aidele patted his neck bringing him to a stop near his enclosed shelter. She dismounted and went to work removing his reins and saddle and took them into the barn. Exhaustion permeated every pore on her body and weighed on her mind. The months had flown by on her quest and she was glad it culminated in a town only a day’s ride to the southwest.

  Rented City. What a cesspool. Hope never to see that damn place again.

  She exited the barn and saw Mesmerize at his trough lapping at the water with audible eagerness. She smiled grabbing a bale of hay off a tall stack and tossed it down for him. Her hand went to her shoulder to rub as she cracked her neck.

  “Yup. Ah need a drink too, old friend.”

  Memories flooded her mind. His breed was of the Marset, a rare equine species native to the Wastelands that only a handful of people knew how to sire. Grandfather was one of their numbers. Mesmerize had been presented to her when he was but a foal. She’d been a foal herself (barely eight years of age) and hardly as tall as him. He was a gift after they’d finally moved from Aquila Mons to the ranch. And they’d be inseparable ever since. Always he’d come rushing up to see her when she came out to the pen where he and his siblings frolicked.

  She’d named him Mesmerize due to his shiny multi-colored coat that would shift from a deep violet to a crimson red, depending on what angle you were looking at him from. His thick mane fell to just below his shoulders and was silky smooth. And his eyes, (Oh! His eyes!), were orbs of shifting vivid blues and violet reds.

  Hypnotic.

  It wasn’t until she was twelve that she’d learned to properly ride him. By then he was twice as tall with a lithe frame and rippling musculature from snout to shank.

  Mesmerize trotted past her and towards his bedding where he performed a tight little circle and flopped down with an audible flutter of his lips. Aidele laughed and shook her head.

  “Ya did a good job, ole boy. Couldn’ta done it without ya.”

  She went towards the barn, saw that the other Marsets were already in their own stables (Mesmerize had his own shelter built along the outer edge of the barn; she’d wanted him to have his own place and had built it herself some years ago) and shut the doors up. Then passed by Mesmerize giving a gentle wave.

  “Ah’ll wash you tomorrow. Sleep well.” She went to the pen gate, closed it behind her, then made her way across the darkening yard to the ranch house. Mesmerize was asleep before the screen door had even shut behind her.

  AIDELE SHUT THE creaky wooden door and twisted towards a coat rack to hang up her tattered duster. She ran a hand down it and frowned.

  Hope this can be repaired. Looks as rough as me. It had once been her mother’s. Now she wore it to honor her memory. There was no way she couldn’t at least try to mend the bitter signs of distress and degraded wear pot-marking its surface. She stepped back and knelt to the floor to remove her boots. A voice echoed out of the kitchen from down the hall adjoining the well-lit living room surrounding her.

  “That you, Aidele?”

  She grunted in reply looking across the room. The den was to the back wall, its doors closed, lights out. From her perspective, the main corridor was left of that room running until it dead-ended into the laundry facilities at the end (she could even see the backdoor from her stoop), its left wall running towards her and the front door until it met the entryway to the massive screened in recreational room. From the kitchen, halfway down the corridor, she saw Grandfather coming her way holding a bowl and mixing its contents with a spoon.
He stopped cold when he saw her and placed the bowl on a console halfway down the hall.

  “Aidele! What happened to you? Are you alright?”

  He rushed towards her and she stood up to raise a hand halting his forward motion just five feet from her, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide. A smile crossed her face and she almost laughed. Grandfather was a tall, bulky man with a belly that had seen too much red meat and beer over his long years. His grey hair was braided up into two cords, one draped over each shoulder. The old Chuhukon continued to stare at her from behind dark brown eyes, his wrinkled visage full of concern. Her smile diminished slightly.

  “It’s done, Grandfather.” Aidele pressed a hand to her wounded shoulder feeling it pulse angrily. “Ah’ve succeeded. Kern Michaels and his revolting crew are dead.”

  It hadn’t seemed possible his eyes could get any wider, but they did. “‘Ah’ve succeeded’?” The words came out in stunned confusion, his head bobbed. “Your clothes are in tatters, soaked in what I can only assume is blood! Every inch of you looks like you’ve been to war!”

  Aidele nodded. “Ah feel like it too. Ah’m ‘bout ta go properly dress these wounds. Ah jus’ wanted ya ta know first, you ken rest easy. This valley is safe from the likes of Kern Michaels.”

  Grandfather straightened to his full height, mouth shut with an audible clack, and he shook his head. Turning back the way he came, Grandfather grabbed his bowl and made back for the kitchen. Aidele could have sworn he was muttering under his breath. She shook her own head slowly, mouth falling open. She then ambled off after him, the bullet-hole in her thigh screaming to be tended.

  In the kitchen, she found him at the stove mixing a boiling pot. He reached up into a cupboard and pulled out some spices and added some portions to the pot.

  “That’s it?” she asked standing in the doorway.

  For almost a minute he stood mixing with a wooden spoon. Silent to her question. Whether he was ruminating over an answer or ignoring her entirely, she wasn’t entirely certain. She was opening her mouth to ask when he looked at her peripherally and huffed.

  “Did you expect more from me? Expectations can be disappointing, it would seem.”

  Aidele inhaled deeply, exhaled, and entered the room. “Ah know you didn’t agree with me goin’ after him. Ah get it. But ah thought you’d least be happy that ah brought my father’s killer ta justice!”

  Grandfather kept at his task as he spoke. “I’m glad you’re safe. I was worried when you tore out of here months ago as if you’d lost your mind. I entertained the thought you’d gone off into the mountains to find it again and that was why you couldn’t send word of your condition.”

  His shoulders hunched a nearly imperceptible degree. Nausea worked its way through her gut and a slight light-headedness narrowed her focus to the small table at the center of the room. She rubbed her wounded arm barely aware of the aching as a result. She was a haggard, beaten person, having yet to look at herself in a reflection. The truth was, she hadn’t even considered how she’d look to him. How he would react to seeing a bloodied, swollen face, poofy eyes, and shot up clothing. She fought hard to keep that knot out of her throat, tears out of her eyes. Her teeth gritted, her jaw clenched, and she cleared her throat of any choked cries.

  “And… and what would you have had me done? Forget about it? Let him go ‘bout his merry way, murderin’ an’ rapin’ his way across the countryside?”

  Grandfather looked towards her, mouth taut, lips downturned. He turned down the burner temperature, placed the spoon in its cradle, and turned to lean against the counter as Aidele pulled out a chair at the table in the center of the room, legs grinding the floor in a bumpy, scrapping growl, and sat down.

  “Did you really expect me to be happy about this?” He grabbed a dishtowel off the countertop and dried his hands. “My daughter, your mother, is five years passed, having taken her long walk. My son-in-law, murdered at the hands of outlaws, his long walk only just beginning. Now my granddaughter, young and vibrant, has given into the bloodlust of vengeance, hellbent on joining them. ‘Happy’ is the furthest emotion from my heart. Sorrow sits there rubbing its hands callously. Look at you…”

  His eyes took her in as if they no longer recognized who she was anymore. She stifled a shudder as he shook his head and went to the refrigerator. After a moment, he pulled out two beers, closed the door, and popped their caps off with the bottle opener built into the door’s surface. Grandfather walked towards her and sat the cold beverage in front of her, then proceeded to chug his own and go back to get another.

  Aidele sighed and downed half of hers. She rested it in her hand on the tabletop, Grandfather watched her mournfully.

  “A man like that,” Grandfather slowly continued, “can’t be allowed to flourish on the backs of innocents. You’re right. However, don’t sit there lying to yourself or to me. This wasn’t an altruistic act to save the Wastelands. Revenge is a double-edged sword. It allows one to think they are fighting for justice when, really, they have only invited in the worst parts of themselves. Violence begets more violence with no end when wielded. It changes a person. Just as it has you. Listen to your words. You have embedded yourself so deeply into this narrative of yours you even speak like one of them now.”

  Aidele slammed the edge of her fists on the table so hard her now empty bottle tipped over. “That sumabitch has been plaguing these parts fer months! An’ ya think no good comes from riddin’ us o’him!? Mah father deserved better! An’ how ah talk don’ got jack ta do wit’ squat!”

  Grandfather waved his hand. “If you insist! But these matters are for the authorities to handle. You’ve always been quick tempered and ready to fight, Granddaughter, but this taking the law into your own hands reminds me of that time you went after that woman—"

  “Ah don’ want ta talk ‘bout that bitch,” Aidele scoffed and leaned back into her chair, eyes narrowed. “Everything ah’ve done, ah’ve done fer justice.”

  “You’ve done it for yourself! You’ve taken this mad quest and murdered your enemy. How long before your thirst demands you find new enemies to take their places?”

  Aidele pushed away from the table and leapt up knocking the chair over. “Ah’m done wit’ this conversation! Ah’m going ta bed!”

  “Wait…” Aidele stopped at the hallway on the other side of the kitchen leading to the bedrooms on the backside of the house. His tone lowered and she barely looked back at him. “You shouldn’t go to bed hungry, let alone angry. Dinner will be ready in a few hours. Come back and eat. If you don’t wish to talk, I’ll say nothing. Tend to your wounds thoroughly, though. And remember the antiseptic. You don’t want to get an infection. But, remember this, Granddaughter, pain might not affect you the way it does most, but every time I see you like this, it hurts me.”

  No words answered, only her stare and a clenched jaw. She turned her gaze back to the corridor and continued onward leaving Grandfather to sigh deeply and go about finishing dinner.

  “GAWDDAMNIT!” AIDELE HISSED, drawing in a sharp breath and leading the needle and plastic thread through her shoulder wound.

  She sat on the toilet working feverishly to finish the job. Beside her was a tub full of bloody water with the bottle of disinfectant on its rim. The bullet to her hip had gone straight through, leaving the easiest of the injuries to contend with. The one to her thigh, though, had to be dug out to copious amounts of cursing. She put the end of the thread in her teeth then tied the suture off with her free hand.

  One thing the Wastelands could use is a gawddamned hospital. Tired of always having to sew myself up. She finished tying off and cut the thread ends down. Hell, ah’d settle for a decent medic instead of these hack traveling doctors going town ta town. …Or the mortician.

  Aidele sighed and stood up to look at herself in the mirror. Looking deep into her nude reflection she experienced the sensation of being out of her body, like she wasn’t even real. That she was just watching the tottering antics of some sublime
ly pathetic beast that overestimated its worth.

  It’s not real… it’s just another world… Every bone ached, every inch throbbed. It was as if every second spent chasing Kern had made her…

  Ancient…

  She leaned forward and retched into the sink with great convulsive heaves, her hands gripping the porcelain sides tightly. The months she’d spent bringing ‘Justice’ to the Wastelands came exploding to the forefront of memory. Her mind’s eye wouldn’t turn away from the faces of those she’d put down. Blood painted walls, grounds slicked in gore, mounds of shredded flesh and guts, the terror deep in the eyes of dead men, all surged through her mind uncontrollably and she continued to heave until her legs felt like jelly. Her throat was raw, her arms quaked, and her vision blurred as tears intermingled with her regurgitated soul. It didn’t end until she was dry heaving and her chest was writhing in sobs.

  Aidele fell to her knees and leaned her forehead against the sink’s front. It was impossible to stop. The horror that was spiking her head wouldn’t leave her be, it was a eulogy to all she’d lost: her father, her mother, her innocence, herself. And, of course, there were the waves of flesh she’d forced herself to fire through to get at Kern and finalize her revenge.

  Maybe Grandfather was right… Maybe I did do it for myself… There was a void enveloping her heart. It reached out and took hold of every aspect of her being. It wasn’t something that could be dressed up, prettied, and put away. She collapsed to the floor, balling up in the process, and tried not to let her cries grow louder. The last thing she wanted (needed!) was an ‘I told you so’ from Grandfather. Though, there was doubt that he would. The greater likelihood was a mournful expression of understanding. And that would be worse.

  However long she lied there, she couldn’t say, but she got to her knees, wiped her hands across her face, and pulled herself back up to the mirror. Within its haunted recesses she saw a slobbering mess. She turned on the faucet and rinsed away the sick, then washed her face off. Collecting herself, she dried off then wrapped a towel around her still wet hair.