by C. J. Petit
“Get away from her, you bastard!” he shouted as he kicked John in the shoulder, sending him flailing backwards onto the floor near a display of double-edged axes. It was a close call.
Hector was stepping forward to grab a scythe from the wall to protect his daughter, when John shouted, “Mr. Blake, what are you doing? It’s me, John Flynn!”
Hector Blake’s hand was still on the scythe handle when John shouted, and abruptly stopped as if he was struck by lightning. His head quickly turned from the scythe, and his eyes bore into John, who was still on his back on the floor.
He stared for five more seconds and shook his head.
“No, that ain’t possible. Slow John Flynn is dead. He died at Shiloh four years ago.”
“Mr. Blake, as far as I know, I’m still alive. I don’t know what gave you that idea.”
In his astonishment, Hector Blake had completely forgotten about Melissa, still passed out two feet behind him, but John hadn’t.
“Mr. Blake, you need to find out how Melissa is doing. I just came in and was about to say hello when she just looked at me and fainted.”
Hector Blake swiveled back around and found Melissa just beginning to stir. He removed his hand, which had still been clenched around the scythe handle, took two steps back to his daughter, then knelt beside her as John stood and picked up his fallen hat.
“Melissa! Are you all right?” Hector asked as he bent over her, fanning her with his hand.
Her eyes blinked twice and then stared at her father’s concerned face.
“Papa, I saw Slow John. His ghost just walked right through the door and spoke to me. I swear!”
“No, Melissa. I thought so too for a second, but he’s standing behind me, and he’s still alive and well.”
Melissa bolted to a sitting position and leaned slightly to see behind her father.
“Slow John?” she asked, but when she said his name, it wasn’t as two separate words, just two attached syllables, sounding more like ‘Slojohn’. Anyone who called him by that moniker pronounced it that way.
John smiled, looking down at the still wide-eyed Melissa.
“Hello, Melissa. Why does everyone seem to think I’m a ghost?”
Her father helped her to her feet, scattering the fallen nails even wider, as John stepped closer.
Melissa continued to stare at him as she said quietly, “Your mother said you were killed at Shiloh four years ago.”
“I was at Shiloh, but didn’t get a scratch. I remember that there was a John Flint in the brigade and he was killed, I just can’t remember if it was at Shiloh or someplace else. The army must have screwed up, which is hardly an earth-shattering thing to happen. I was never even wounded in my five years. I just came down to find my family and discovered someone else living in the house and the man told me that they had sold the farm and were going to homestead out west. He didn’t seem to know where they were, so I came here to see if anyone in town knew.”
“I’m sorry, Slow John. I was just so shocked to see you there and then to find you weren’t dead. What happened?”
“If I had to guess, the army sent a telegram to my parents telling them I was killed at Shiloh. It was such a confused mess that identifying the dead was difficult. I just don’t know why they didn’t send another telegram telling them I was alive. I was getting paid for four more years, so someone must have noticed.”
“So, you’re still in the army?” asked Melissa as she absent-mindedly brushed off her dress as her father moved around her picking up nails.
“For another two weeks. We’re mustering out in Omaha.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Now, I’m not sure. I suppose I’ve got to find them. Do you know where my family went to homestead, Mr. Blake?”
Hector Blake didn’t look up as he continued to return the wayward nails to their box.
“Not exactly. They had a couple of bad years and then the barn burned down, so, just before planting season last year, they bought three of those Conestoga wagons and loaded up all their tools and furnishings, trailed two milk cows and a bull and joined up with a wagon train headed west on the Mormon Trail. They stopped in just before they left to buy a bunch of things for building, and said they’d be able to homestead at least two quarter sections, and that each of the boys would homestead another quarter section, too.”
“That’s a lot of land for four men to work, Mr. Blake. How was everyone when they left? I imagine my brothers have changed quite a lot.”
“Your parents were the same, but your brothers were bigger than when you saw them last. I don’t think any of them will be as big as you, though, especially looking at you now. Dennis got married before they left and took his new wife with him.”
The fact that Dennis was married already didn’t surprise him. They were all good-looking boys when he left, and didn’t doubt that a few ladies had their eyes on the Flynn boys when they became men. When he had volunteered, Dennis had been seventeen, Patrick was sixteen, and Jack was fourteen. He wondered what they looked like now.
“Did he marry anyone I would know?”
“I don’t think so.”
He turned to Melissa. “Did you know her, Melissa?”
“Not well. Her name was Martha O’Rourke and she was from Omaha.”
John shook his head. “Nope. Don’t know her. Well, Mr. Blake, thanks for the information.”
Hector Blake waved, all of the fugitive nails captured, and returned to the back room where he had been doing the books before the fainting episode.
“You’re leaving again, Slow John?” asked Melissa, her big brown eyes looking into his blues, reminding John of those last few months before he had gone.
“Not right away. I’ve got to do some more searching and then make sure I’m ready. That’s a big country to be hunting without knowing as much as possible.”
“Where will you be staying?”
“I’ll be in our temporary quarters in Omaha, doing paperwork and turning equipment in before I muster out in two weeks, then I’ll probably be coming back here and staying at the boarding house. Everybody I knew is around here and I’ll need to talk to as many as I can. Maybe my mother or brothers wrote to someone when they settled down.”
Melissa smiled at John and said, “Don’t be a stranger, John. You should stop by more often now that you’re back.”
John smiled at her, with those Melissa memories flooding his mind. But there was that one line he wouldn’t cross.
“Aren’t you married, Melissa? I’d find it hard to believe that you’d still be unmarried.”
“Yes, I’m married.” she replied, with a look of embarrassment.
Then paused, and took in a breath before continuing.
“I married Billy Bannister.” she replied, and almost cringed when she said it.
John didn’t want to say anything, but her choice of husbands was a bit of a surprise. Billy Bannister was one of the school bullies and had almost nothing to offer any woman, much less one as sweet as Melissa Blake.
“Oh.” Was all he could manage without insulting her.
Then, after Melissa had stared into John’s eyes for a few more seconds, she looked down at her left arm, and pulled up her dress sleeve about eight inches, revealing a healing burn mark on her forearm that was a good two inches long. He grimaced at the sight, and after John had seen it, she slid the sleeve back down.
Melissa didn’t ask John to do anything about it, but knew she didn’t need to. Slow John had always been that way.
“Where are you living now, Melissa?” he asked quietly.
“We have a small house on 4th Street. Number 12.”
“What does Billy do these days?”
“He’s supposed to help around the store, but never does. My parents bought us the house.”
“So, he’s at home now?”
Melissa nodded, feeling guilty for sending Slow John there, but she didn’t know what else to do. Husbands were free to discipline
their wives, but she knew that Slow John Flynn was either admired or feared by other boys in school, and her bastard of a husband feared Slow John more than most.
John looked into her brown eyes and said, “You take care, Melissa.”
“You too, Slow John. It’s really good to have you back.”
“I’m glad I came.” John replied, smiling at Melissa.
John then turned his face to the back room and shouted, “See you later, Mr. Blake.”
“You need anything before you head out, Slow John, you be sure to stop by.” Hector shouted back, who had finally accepted that John was alive after all.
John leaned over and kissed Melissa on the cheek, and slid his fingers across her face before leaving the store, crossing the boardwalk and stepping up on his horse. He waved to Melissa, turned back east down Mission Avenue and headed for 4th Street.
Melissa watched him ride off and almost had called out to him to tell him not to bother, that it wasn’t worth the risk. She would never forgive herself if he was hurt trying to solve her problem. She didn’t know why she had shown him the burn, either. I had just hurt so much when Billy had pressed the corner of the frypan against her arm three nights ago when he hadn’t liked the dinner. Her parents knew about his tendencies, but in addition to the legal problem of Billy acting within his rights as her husband, they were both afraid of what he might do if provoked. Melissa was now praying that Lieutenant Slow John Flynn could do what no one else seemed to be able to do – put the fear of God into Billy Bannister.
John arrived at #12 a minute later and stepped down, tying his horse’s reins to an overhanging branch. He walked slowly up the steps to the porch and pounded loudly on the door.
He had to wait more than two minutes before he heard movement inside and the door opened revealing a tall, unkempt man without any shoes. Despite the years, he recognized Billy Bannister immediately. He was three years older than John, and when John had last seen him, he was already going to seed at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Now he was twenty eight and had deteriorated much more.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he snarled.
John felt nauseated by the stench of alcohol, and he decided to play on the knowledge that everyone thought he was dead, that Billy Bannister feared him already, and that he was already half-drunk.
“I’m Slow John Flynn, Billy, and I’ve been sent to deliver a message.” he said in a quiet, unworldly voice.
Bannister squinted. “Wait a minute. You can’t be him! Flynn got killed at Shiloh! Everybody knows that!”
“You’re right, Billy. I did get killed at Shiloh. Took a rebel Minie ball right here in the left side of my chest, and it tore my insides all to hell. It took me another fifteen seconds to die, Billy. Want to see the bullet hole? I’ll even let you put your finger inside. Of course, it’s not warm anymore. In fact, it’s so cold your finger might break off into small pieces of frozen flesh.”
Bannister’s eyes flew wide open and he stepped back, his hands splayed out in front of him to ward off the evil spirit.
“Get away from me! Get out of my house!!” he screamed as he continued to backpedal.
John stepped inside, closed the door behind him and began advancing toward the terrified Billy Bannister in slow, small steps.
“I remembered how you and Willie Prescott taunted me and punched me that day when I was five, and now I’ve come back to pay you a visit, and do you know why, Billy? Do you remember Jeff Bigelow?”
If possible, Billy Bannister’s eyes grew even bigger at the mention of Jeff Bigelow.
“He died when he was twelve! I didn’t kill him like everybody thought!!” shouted a horrified Billy Bannister.
“Yes, you did, Billy. I know because it was Jeffrey who sent me here.”
“He wanted Melissa for a girlfriend and she liked him better, so, I had to! I had to!” he shouted.
“I know, Billy. You were right about Jeffrey wanting to be Melissa’s boyfriend. He’s never stopped loving her and watching over her. He knows what you do to her, and it made him very angry. But Jeff was only twelve when he died, and the rules of the spirit world don’t allow children to seek vengeance. So, he asked me to come and help Melissa and to bring you to justice and punish you for what you did. He said you burned Melissa’s arm a little while ago. He wants me to burn you in return, Billy. You killed Jeff and hurt Melissa. Now, I’m going to let you feel what it’s like to burn. I’ve come to escort you to Hell, Billy, where you will burn forever. I just need to wait until all the liquor is gone from your body, so you don’t set everything else on fire. I’m going to stay here until you’re sober and then I’ll take you away and send you to eternal damnation.”
With that, Billy turned, ran pell-mell into the kitchen, slid to a stop in his bare feet, and grabbed a full bottle of rotgut whiskey.
John slowly began drawing out his shining sabre as Billy watched bug-eyed, shaking his head and muttering, “No! No! No!”
As John continued to step slowly forward, heel and toe, as Billy yanked out the cork, upended the bottle and began to chug the contents. John simply watched, astounded that anyone could drink that much so quickly, and then, after tossing the empty bottle aside, Billy snatched a second and began pouring it down his throat. He almost finished the second bottle when his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped straight down into a sitting position, then leaned over as if in slow motion and laid still on the floor.
John slammed his saber back into its scabbard, looked down at Billy Bannister, then knelt next to him and felt his chest. Billy Bannister was dead, and self-fulfilled his own demonic fear of eternal damnation. Melissa was now safe, and John had finally learned the truth about Jeffery Bigelow.
John stood, turned and marched from the house, stepped up on his horse, and rode north. When he reached the end of 4th Street, he turned left on Mission Avenue then stopped at the sheriff’s office, tied off his horse and stepped down.
After he entered, he found Sheriff Everton napping behind his desk, and he wondered how he should wake the man. Finally, he just cleared his throat.
The bald sheriff’s eyes popped open and tried to focus on John as he stood in front of him.
When John thought the sheriff was sufficiently awake, he said “Hank, I just left Billy Bannister’s house. I think he’s dead.”
“Who are you?” he asked, still trying to shake the nap from his head.
“I’m Slow John Flynn, Sheriff.”
Now, that brought him to a fully awake status, but he still stared at John for a couple of seconds.
“Jesus! How are you doing, Slow John? I thought you were dead.”
“Obviously, so, did Billy Bannister. I stopped by his house to say hi and he thought I was a ghost, so he ran back to his kitchen and emptied a whole bottle and then started on a second before he fell to the floor. When I got there, he was dead.”
“Let’s go and see.”
The sheriff snatched his Stetson and pulled it on as they left the office. They just walked to the house because it would take longer to saddle his horse than it would to get there on foot.
Five minutes later, they were both standing over Billy Bannister’s body.
“That boy sure does smell bad.” commented the sheriff. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll send the coroner over and pick him up.”
As they walked back along the boardwalk, the sheriff asked, “Slow John, you wouldn’t want to do me a favor and let his missus know about it, would you? I hate that part of the job. Besides, you were there and can probably tell her better.”
John replied, “Sure. I’ll handle it. I’ll stop by in a few minutes and fill out a report.”
“Thanks, John. I appreciate it. I’ll be in my office.”
They came up on the hardware store and the sheriff glanced inside and then waved back to John as he returned to his office.
John turned into Blake Hardware and spotted Melissa behind the counter. Melissa saw him enter, stepped around the
counter and began to walk toward him, as her eyes did a quick examination of Slow John to see if Billy had hurt him.
“John, did you see Billy?” she asked.
“Melissa, is your father here?”
“No, he went home for lunch. Did you want me to go and get him?”
“No. That’s all right. Melissa. I just don’t want a repeat performance when I give you the bad news.”
Melissa thought the bad news was that Billy had been enraged by Slow John’s appearance and she would suffer that wrath when she returned.
“Billy is really angry, isn’t he, Slow John?” she asked quietly.
John shook his head and replied, “No, Melissa. Billy is dead. I went to pay Billy a visit and when I knocked on the door, he recognized me and thought I was a ghost. Then he ran back to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle and drank the whole thing. So, I ran inside, and he drank a second one. He didn’t quite finish it and then just crashed to the floor. He’s dead, Melissa. He drank himself to death because he was so afraid of me and he thought I was a spirit coming to claim him.”
Melissa wanted to dance around the store, but knew she shouldn’t. Instead, she walked up to John and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. She tried to work up some tears, but couldn’t do it.
He put his arms around her and waited for some reaction, but wasn’t overly surprised when there wasn’t one. But having Melissa pressed against him like that had its natural effect on him and he was sure Melissa was aware of it too.
“Melissa, you don’t have to worry anymore, okay?”
“John, you didn’t kill him. Did you?” she asked quietly, worried that John might suffer severe consequences for trying to help her.
“Only in that he was scared to death that I was a ghost, and I kind of encouraged him in that belief. If he hadn’t already been drinking, or if the natural fear and guilt weren’t there, he’d still be alive.”
She pulled her head back and looked at him, asking, “It really happened like that?”
“Exactly like that. Although I did ask him something that some of us suspected and it scared him something fierce.”