Straight Shots for Crooked Thoughts

by James Livingood

  They greeted him warmly and shared a couple of meals with him. Their home wasn’t large, and children often bugged them with questions while they worked, but Holt was grateful for the food. Holt paid back the kindness in sweat, helping pile hay in the late summer sun. It was dry enough to move and cover, so you had to go quickly. If you let the hay get wet, then covered it, the grass could rot. Even worse, the hay could catch fire if enough heat was generated. Many barns and sheds had been burnt down by careless farmers.

  Holt finished the work and was rewarded with an early supper. During that early supper, the neighbor began to talk. Holt wasn’t the talkative type, but his neighbor certainly did enjoy the activity. “Heya Holt, you hear the latest from town? About the doctor looking for illness?”

  Holt shrugged. He had heard that people were now required to come in yearly to the doctor and it would be free. He didn’t think much of the requirement and would probably ignore the new law.

  His neighbor continued, “It used to be that people would be required to come in once a year. Now it’s required to be monthly. What’s more, they're saying sheriffs will bring you in if you don’t comply. I am not sure why the sudden changes.” The neighbor was pointing a fork at Holt.

  The neighbor’s wife cleared her throat and banged her spoon on the table. “Stop that unpleasant talk. If Dr. Leech is worried about a pox running through the town, he’s right to get it sorted out. The last thing we need is illness wrecking everything we’ve worked for.”

  The neighbor started nodding his head, as if he had always agreed with his wife. “I’ll tell you this about Dr. Leech, when my bones are hurting from a good day’s work, he makes them feel better. I don’t know how he does it, but they are all fixed up when done.”

  Holt flexed his hand and felt how sore it had been. Perhaps it had been too long since he visited the good doctor. His face crinkled a bit in disgust at his own weakness. A man needed to provide for himself, regardless of the pain it took.

  The neighbor continued, “Too bad it doesn’t last long. Costing us a small fortune to get these old bones of mine to be okay. Enough of my belly aches, are you heading out tonight Holt or are you spending the night?”

  Holt pointed to outside and finished his food. He got on his horse and decided to head back to his homestead. There was just enough light to see that he should be able to make it home without his horse breaking a leg on a gopher hole. He hadn’t accomplished much for himself today but having a good neighbor could be a lifesaver. Someone to run for help during trouble or borrow an essential tool to get a job done. All it had cost him was a day’s work and listening to the man talk.

  As he plodded back to his homestead on his horse, he thought of his aching hands. He wanted to talk to the doctor again about that but didn’t like the idea of being required to go every month. That felt like way too much to him. He wasn’t some sickly, pale, on death’s door thing. He was a man who enjoyed his freedom, even if it was painful at times.

  The weather started up and light rain came down. It wasn’t enough to cause mud or be too much of a bother. Still, for some reason, that cold outlined his aches all the more. Holt groaned and began to think of how nice his warm bed would feel once he got home. When he got home a piece of paper was waiting for him. It was nailed to the side of a nearby tree.

  On that piece of paper was the same information that the neighbor had talked through during dinner. All citizens would be required to come in monthly and get a sickness inspection from Dr. Leech. The letter was drafted by the local sheriff and a symbol of his badge dotted the corner. Holt didn’t like the idea that some stranger had invaded his property without his permission. They had come here and casually left their paper as if they owned the place.

  Holt crumpled the paper up in his hands and swore to burn it that night. The next time someone came by looking to spread trash on his property, Holt would give them a lesson in respecting what belonged to others. He didn’t feel especially kind or gracious that night, and spent the time cleaning his gun. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a six-shooter that had seen a lot of action. It made him feel better to have it ready as possible, for whatever the next day would bring.

  Holt wasn’t aiming to start up a fight, but he wasn’t willing to be pushed around either. A pox or not, it wasn’t right to force people into town so often. It especially wasn’t right to invade another’s property.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Holt packed up his stuff the next day. He would visit this doctor in town and let him know how mighty frustrating it had been to have people invade his place with garbage. His hand felt sorer today, but his wound was at least healing. He packed his gun as well, just in case things went a bit too far south. He hoped he didn’t have to use it.

  As Holt began his way to town, he spotted another piece of paper nailed to his neighbor’s tree. Holt looked at the flapping piece of paper while he was sitting on his horse. The breeze was picking up, but Holt left the paper nailed to the tree as proof. In a sudden gust, the paper ripped off the nails and flew through the air. Holt watched it dance up and down, until it fell gently into a puddle nearby. Holt smiled at the ruined paper. He took off at a trot, his horse's feet punching the paper further into the puddle.

  When he got closer to his neighbor’s house he stopped but didn’t see anyone around. Holt kept on his pace for town to speak with Dr. Leech. His hands ached and that cooled down his fiery attitude. Perhaps this whole thing had been a misunderstanding. Maybe one of the good doctor’s friends went a bit too far out of concern for the community. You couldn’t blame a man for being concerned for the welfare of others.

  It took a couple of days to reach the town, but when he did, it was the type of organized mess even the best paper pusher would admire. Long lines stretched out the doctor’s office. People were counting their coin and asking a roaming woman what the doctor charged. There were two women, walking up and down the line, paper in hand. They scribbled names and handed pieces of paper to people. A large barrel-chested hairy man stood at the front of the doctor’s office. As one person left, the man yelled a number. Everyone looked to their scraps of paper, trying to figure out what the squiggly lines meant. If they didn’t know how to interpret numbers, they just stood in the line, waiting to be let in.

  A man in a dirty cotton shirt raised a piece of paper and yelled out that same number. He looked so excited. The thick hairy man at the entrance stopped him and inspected the paper. He nodded and the two then asked about coins. The dirty cotton shirt man gave the hairy guard a coin and then disappeared into the office.

  Another man, standing in line, yelled at the hairy guard, “By the time I’ve been seen my children will be grown! Come on now, tell that doctor to hurry up!”

  “You can leave right now if you want. Dr. Ashenbury doesn’t owe you lot a thing. You want his help, you wait.” The guard yelled back.

  At that moment, one of the women yelped and scooted away from the line. A young man with a mustache was looking at her with intention and smiling broadly. One of his hands was in a pinching gesture while the other held coins. The guard hopped down from the front and approached the man.

  The guard grabbed the man’s collar and threw him to the ground. “These are nurses now; helpers of the doctor. They don’t owe you anything either.”

  The man with a mustache twirled around on the ground so he could face the guard. He threw up his hands and tried to explain, “I paid her for company not two nights ago! She sells her time and I intend to pay!”

  The guard growled and looked down at the man, “The doctor’s already paid for her time. If you try to harass these women again, I’ll open your head so wide the doctor won’t be able to fix it.”

  The man with a mustache shuffled his way back into the line and looked the other way. Not only was he not willing to fight, he still wanted to be seen by the doctor. The guard grunted and walked back to the front of the doctor’s building. A young woman and man couple left. The guard yelled out another n
umber and no one responded. The guard then let someone from the line into the office.

  Holt had never seen anything like this. This was a horror he had never contemplated. It was like everyone had to drink from the same well of crazy, but only a trickle was coming out. Why would so many people need medical attention? Holt didn’t even realize that this many people lived in the town or nearby. The town felt like it was growing inward and Holt started to feel closed in.

  Holt spotted a piece of paper in one of the people’s hands. It had been just like the one nailed to his tree. Holt sucked in a deep breath and decided to be resolved about getting the job done. He tied up his horse and walked over to the back of the line. A woman gave him a number and asked about his coin. She wanted to make sure he had enough to be seen. He told her how much he had and she nodded.

  The day started to fade and Holt began to wonder how the doctor would see all these people before night time. The answer was that he wouldn’t. The guard announced that the doctor was done for the day, and that those with numbers could come back tomorrow. The people in line complained that they didn’t understand numbers, and what should they do? The guard shrugged and told them to camp in line.

  The women and the guard left to the nearby hotel. People got out of line and peeked in the windows. The doctor wasn’t in the building anymore and a few people started wondering if they could steal things to make their own medicine. That idea was quickly shot down as they realized that they needed training to use the medical stuff. A few people in the line did settle in like they were willing to wait.

  Holt understood numbers and had his own from the scrap paper handed to him. His anger started burning inside as he got a room at the local hotel. He didn’t anticipate it would take so long and cost so much to be seen by the doctor. What kind of horrible place had this town grown into?

  His dreams were filled with more dead men, now all standing in line waiting to be seen by himself. Holt shot them without passion, killing man after man, until a giant pile of bodies was in front of him. When Holt took lunch in his dreams, the dead men complained about his killing taking too long. Holt woke up the next morning in sweats. He held his head and felt a dull pain start to take hold. He hoped that he would be able to see the doctor today.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The line wasn’t as long today. Holt was grateful for that, on two different accounts. The first meant that everyone was calmer and wouldn’t be starting any trouble. The second is that he felt much worse and wanted to see the doctor. The stench of throw-up made him lose his appetite for breakfast. His aching hands made it hard to fasten up his holster. For a few moments, he wondered if he should shove the gun in his pocket, but then thought about shooting himself in the leg.

  When Holt saw the line, it was less than a third of what it was yesterday. He guessed most people weren’t from farms, or else they would be morning people. However, there were two guards today, instead of just the one. Holt got into line and waited.

  The sun began to bake the dust beneath his feet and he was glad he was about to get in. The shade from the front of the building helped cool things a bit. When the guards got to him, they stopped him and pointed. “He’s the last one. The doctor has some business for the day.”

  Holt expected yelling and perhaps even a shot or two to get thrown into the air. Instead, the crowd just slinked away, holding their stomachs. He was glad to get to see the doctor but didn’t understand why the crowd wasn’t angrier.

  The doctor’s office looked nearly empty. Barrels and bandages that were there last time were now nowhere to be seen. The air had a foul musty smell to it, like rotten wood mixed with soaked campfire ashes. Almost the second Holt entered the door, the doctor began speaking, “You are here because you have stomach pains and soreness, right? How much coin do you have?”

  Holt froze in place. He knew that doctors had specialized training, but that diagnosis was a little too fast and a little too accurate. How did he know about that?

  Holt handed over a sack of his remaining coins. It wasn’t a lot, but it was the rest of his money. The Doctor sighed and said, “Can’t fix your stomach for this, but I’ll fix the soreness. Which area?”

  Holt held out his hand with the bandage. The doctor held the hand and closed his eyes. A second later the pain disappeared. Holt snatched back his hand as if it was about to be bitten by a snake. There wasn’t any powder that was used. There wasn’t a bandage or liquid used. The doctor just closed his eyes and it was better. Doctors performed amazing feats all the time, but this was getting into the realm of miracle.

  Holt knew what this was, only because he knew it in himself. He pulled out his six-shooter from the holster and pointed it at the doctor.

  Dr. Leech opened his eyes to find the barrel of a gun pointed at his face. He put his hands into the air. “I fix you up and you rob me, is that how it is? What happens when you need another fix?”

  Holt growled out, “Tell me how you fixed my hand up. The truth.”

  “I am a doctor, I use my knowledge and tools to…” the doctor started.

  Holt clicked back the hammer on his gun. He then revealed a truth about himself, “I got the same kind of feeling inside as you do. It helps me move things, like bullets. What are you moving inside me?”

  The doctor moved his gaze from the gun to Holt’s eyes. The doctor set his hand on the top of the weapon and softly pushed it away. Holt allowed it, knowing that he could snap his arm up whenever he wanted.

  “I don’t move individual things. I also don’t fully know how I do what I do. I can interact with things in waves.” Dr. Leech said.

  Holt thought about what he knew of waves. There were waves in the ocean and when a pebble dropped in a water trough. “Waves? Like water waves?”

  “Like that, but through the air. Kind of like a breeze you can’t feel with your skin.” The doctor clarified.

  Holt understood breeze, he understood breeze far better than most men. If he reached inside himself he could move things around or on the breeze. He did not fully understand how a breeze would exist that you couldn’t feel with your skin. He scrunched up his nose, trying to understand.

  “I can see you’re not getting it. Forget the breeze thing, imagine it like sunshine on your skin. At first, it’s a little warmth, but after a while it cooks you like a rat on a spit. That’s how mine works, it does a bit at a time and slowly increases all over.”

  Holt thought of all the sick people outside. He then saw his pack of coins on the desk. He had a straightforward question, “You making all these people sick?”

  The doctor opened his wide as if in shock, “Why would I make people sick? I am a doctor, I help people.”

  Holt thought about his neighbor needing healing. If this were a fake doctor, his neighbor wouldn’t have such nice things to say. Holt nodded and put his gun away. Another question wiggled its way into his brain like a worm trying to avoid the heat. “There a pox in this town? Like a shared sickness? Should I be leaving town?”

  The doctor shook his head and said, “I don’t think it’s a pox, but there might be a shared sickness. I am leaving town myself to go help in the war. I got a letter yesterday that they’ll pay me top dollar to help the wounded.”

  “Which side are you helping?” Holt asked, his stomach starting to hurt.

  “Doesn’t matter, whichever has the best coins.” Dr. Leech said.

  “You’re like a hired gun, just for medical stuff? Whoever pays the most?” Holt asked. “And this town can’t pay you enough?”

  Holt’s stomach pain intensified, and he fell to the floor. Vomit spilled from his mouth, though he hadn’t eaten that morning. The doctor scooped up the coins from the desk and dropped them in a large black bag. He began to leave the office when he turned around and added, “I’ve taken all the coin I can from this backward town. It’s time I found better patrons.”

  Holt’s pain started to make his vision blur. The doctor became two blurry doctors and then one doctor. Holt was
n’t sure he heard the next words correctly.

  The doctor smiled and said, “Oh, by the way, I lied. I can re-open up any wound I heal and can even cause new injuries. This town’s medical problems will fade after I am far into the sunset with your money.”

  Holt passed out from the stomach pain, with the worry that he may never wake again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Holt felt the world twirl beneath him and just wanted things to stop. He passed out again, the world fuzzing in from the sides of his vision. He woke to wetness on his face and a loud banging noise. He then heard a pair of boots come in and stand next to his face. He was rolled over to his back and a person looked down at him.

  “You think he has the pox?” the voice said. Holt could see a man looking back at the door.

  “Best not to get too close” the voice replied.

  The outline shape of a man disappeared through the door frame and left the door open. Holt could feel the breeze coming into the room and it felt refreshing. He shook his head side to side on the floor, trying to regain some sense. The world slowly stopped buzzing and he could hear the birds outside again. He put his hands to his side to raise himself up. He felt wetness near his hands and determined it was his own sick. The doctor had left him in a bad state, but it wasn’t anything compared to what Holt had planned.

  Holt grabbed the side of the desk and tried to get up. His slick hands fell to the ground and he collapsed. He needed to get up and try, so he reached out again, determined to raise himself. When he finally got to his feet, the ground started spinning again. It felt like he was being sucked back down to the earth, like he was standing on quicksand. His knees wobbled but his hands held firm. After a few moments, the sensation disappeared, and he was feeling like he could walk, if just a few steps at a time.