The Color of Gothic

by Joel Q. Aaron

  * * *

  “She’s a tough one,” Blair said in a weak voice after she left the room.

  Worthington leaned over the bed and put his hand on Blair’s arm. “So are you.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Not sure. She found you unconscious in the middle of the night. After you killed Pruitt.”

  Blair’s mind reworked the events of last night—the church, the demons, the Hungarians and Pruitt. “Mr. Tab.”

  “Yes, I believe his healing power is still working.”

  “I’m gonna kill that spawn of God.” Blair flipped back the covers and swung his legs to the side of the bed and rose up. Fresh cloth bandages covered his torso from his belly button to his neck. The room spun into a blur. Worthington caught him when he fell.

  “You’re not going anywhere for a while.” He set him back on the bed.

  “Professor, stay out of my way.” Blair wiped the air with his hand to move Worthington back.

  “Your way is straight to the floor.” The professor stood up and waved a finger at him. “Next time I shall let gravity introduce the two of you.”

  Blair sat on the edge and clinched the sheet in his fists. Stubbornness was a friend, but logic beat it back. He wasn’t walking out of here for a while.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Worthington asked.

  Blair stared at the floor.

  Miss Katy Lee came back with a cup of coffee. “Here you go, something to brighten you up. It’s not exactly hot, but still warm.”

  Blair snatched it out of her hands and drank it down without stopping. He opened and closed his mouth, smacking his tongue, trying to taste something. His eyes couldn’t focus. The porcelain cup dropped to the floor and shattered. His eyes rolled and his body fell backward.

  * * *

  “That will keep him still.” Miss Katy Lee bent over to pick up the larger pieces of the cup. “I’ll get a broom.”

  Worthington was stunned. “What was that?”

  “A little mixture I use to keep the bad boys from doing any damage around here. He’ll be fine in a couple hours.”

  “That should give me some time to find him.” He needed to warn Mr. Tab to stay away.

  “Who?”

  “A man who goes by the name Mr. Tab.”

  “Pale skin, gray eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s downstairs.”

  Worthington followed Miss Katy Lee through the hall. From the balcony, he spotted Mr. Tab sitting at the bar. The saloon was filled with people, mostly resting, at the tables and on the floor, wherever there was room. Children slept in their parents’ arms.

  Mr. Tab and the professor eyeballed each other as he came down the stairs. A makeshift aisle empty of people led to the bar and front doors. As crowded as the Maroon was, no one sat near Mr. Tab.

  Mr. Tab gave a slight head bow. “I see you endured the night safely.”

  Worthington stopped a few feet from him. The man—the angel—didn’t have a thread out of place. His clothes were as clean as laundry could provide.

  “I would like to speak with Jonathan Blair,” Mr. Tab said.

  “That might be hazardous to your health.”

  Mr. Tab raised his eyebrows.

  “Jonathan said he wanted to kill you. Why is that?” Worthington kept his distance.

  “He must have discovered the truth of our first meeting.”

  “When was that?”

  “I was there when Pruitt murdered his family.”

  “You didn’t save them.” Worthington knew instantly. Just like the story of the mission Blair shared.

  Mr. Tab shook his head. His face gave no expression of regret or guilt.

  Worthington rubbed his chin. “But you saved Blair, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Worthington put his hands on the bar and set himself on the stool next to the fallen angel. “I can see how that would turn a man against another.”

  “But I am not a man.”

  “Makes no difference. Killing you will bring him satisfaction for being the catalyst for the past several years of his pain.”

  “The choice to live as he did was his.”

  “Indeed.” Worthington scrutinized Tab in the mirror behind the bar. Not a physical flaw in the being. His, its conduct was questionable. “You gave him no guidance.”

  “I intervened when his death became the task of the enemy.”

  “You spoke to Jonathan about his purpose, his legacy, and the significance to others. Yet you allowed him to suffer.”

  “He must come freely, not by human or angelic persuasion. As you all must come to the throne.”

  Worthington bobbed his head. He understood that, but like many, he knew the pain people must endure before they grasped the concept of true grace and unwavering love.

  Mr. Tab said, “I abandoned Heaven and God’s will because I comprehended Mr. Blair’s destiny. Lucifer knew this also, and his demonic forces guided Mr. Pruitt to Mr. Blair’s home many years ago to kill him. The darkness almost succeeded.”

  “You sacrificed eternity with God for him?”

  “Not for the man, but for the purpose he is throwing away.”

  “Will he regain his faith?”

  “I wagered my existence on it.”

  “Is his purpose here in Gothic?”

  “No. His providence will develop elsewhere. I must see he stays alive until then. The situation here in Gothic is an obstacle he must overcome. If he cannot rise to battle this demon, his future will be lost.”

  “How many more exist like yourself?” Worthington asked. “Unable to return, yet willing to give away your position to help us?”

  “There are several, though not enough to aid all humanity.”

  “What about those who remain loyal to the King?”

  Mr. Tab put his hand on Worthington’s shoulder. “They are abundant, and waiting for your people to ask.”

  “We have much to learn.”

  Mr. Tab patted Worthington’s hand. “You have much you can teach them.”

  The touch brought warmth, comfort, and encouragement. But it didn’t wash away his doubt. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t let your past disrupt your purpose.”

  “I gave up the pulpit a long time ago.”

  “And you hide in the college ivy.”

  Worthington moved his eyes from the mirror to Mr. Tab’s face.

  “You can bring revelation to those outside your classroom and never set foot inside a church building.”

  Worthington sighed. “You speak words I know to be true.”

  “Then follow your purpose, Professor. Remember who you are.”

  * * *

  András Kovách directed the search and rescue of Gothic with the blessing of Mayor Orry Burdett.

  András gave orders from the Colorado Mine and Exploration Company office, which was two doors down from the Maroon. Groups of ten, armed with guns and axes, went building to building seeking those still hiding. Kovách told them to shoot anyone who seemed out of the ordinary. The survivors checked in with the Mayor as he accounted for the living and dead in Gothic—a difficult task given the transient population of a mining town.

  András placed Péter and János on decapitation detail. Two groups of men in wagons rode through town picking up the dead bodies. They delivered the corpses to a large barn on the southern end of town. Burlap bags, flour sacks and torn sheets were tied to each body. Heads were placed in the sacks after being cut loose. A couple of heads would surely arrive at the grave with the wrong body, but the bags would keep that to a minimum.

  Three men spent their time carving stakes, while two others visited each corpse with the sharpened wood and a mallet. The professor would not approve of these actions, but András would not rest peacefully without it. Freshly dug graves waited at the cemetery for the growing number bodies. The grave diggers lagged behind.

  * * *

  Worthington reach
ed out a hand and touched Mr. Tab. “There is much I can learn from you.”

  Mr. Tab nodded solemnly. “You have gathered much wisdom through the years.”

  Worthington forced a smile. “Until today, I thought it was enough. Yet now I know I am a neophyte in your presence. Please.”

  Mr. Tab’s wisdom washed over Worthington as gentle, endless waves. The professor scribbled notes furiously in his ledger until his knuckles cramped.

  “That is all we have time for,” the fallen angel said. “Where is Mr. Blair?”

  Worthington glanced up the stairs to the second floor landing as he thought of the gun next to the bed. “Let me go first.”

  “Can you remove the weapon from his possession? His hospitality will be lacking at my appearance.”

  Worthington climbed the stairs, with Mr. Tab right behind him. One of Miss Katy Lee’s guards had his head in the door talking to her. The guard peeked to see them standing behind him, next to the other guard. “Oh,” he said in surprise.

  “Sorry.” Worthington bowed his head. If Mr. Tab was right, Stone wouldn’t have any trouble getting through the defenses of one bodyguard.

  “No problem. You here to see him?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Miss Katy Lee, the professor and another guy are out here.”

  The madam came to the door. “Professor.”

  “How is he?”

  “Just now waking up. He’s very groggy.”

  “I think I need to see him alone.”

  The pistol remained on the side table. Blair lay on his back with his arms out of the covers. His breathing was slow and deep.

  “Can I get you anything?” Worthington asked.

  Blair gave a slight head shake.

  Worthington crept closer, trying not to eye the pistol. Blair would notice that.

  “You have a visitor.” That notion should distract him.

  “No, thanks.”

  “He says he needs to speak with you.” Worthington was within reach of the pistol.

  “Who is it?”

  The professor’s eyes couldn’t resist and they spotted the gun.

  Blair went for it. But Worthington was quicker. The bounty hunter cringed.

  “My apologies, Jonathan. But it’s important.” He hated that he caused him pain.

  Blair rolled back into a comfortable position.

  Worthington held the pistol weighted with death. How many lives were impacted by its deadly use? How many were saved last night? And, the man in the bed, who’d wreaked destruction, had a purpose worthy of an angel giving up his place in Heaven.

  “Grace to you,” he whispered.

  Worthington held up the gun to show Mr. Tab. “I don’t know where his other one is.”

  The angel slid into the room and shut the door, leaving Worthington and Miss Katy Lee in the hallway.

  Blair’s curses seeped through the wall like water in a burlap sack.

  Miss Katy Lee’s eyes told Worthington she was surprised. “What’s going on?”

  “I am not entirely sure.”

  “Who is that?”

  “My darling, if you believe in the demons running amuck in town, then you should know that, in there, is an angel.”

  “Not what I expected in an angel.”

  “I doubt they ever are.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Influence

  Jonathan Blair leaned on his pillows to prop himself up. His hand flexed, yearning for a pistol or a knife—even a rock would do.

  Mr. Tab grabbed the chair and dragged it back a few feet.

  “Come closer and see what I do,” Blair said through the pain.

  “I mean you no harm.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Your anger toward me should be aimed elsewhere. Your soul mourns deeply.”

  “You let them die.”

  “No.”

  “You let them die.” Tears purged from Blair’s eyes.

  “I can assure you, they live. Though not on this earth.”

  “How could you let the innocent suffer?”

  “They did not.”

  “They were murdered!” Blair’s anger overrode his pain. “They were children.”

  “Jonathan, when you last spoke to your daughter, such a precious soul, did she appear scared?”

  Blair didn’t want to think about it. He tried for years to wipe the memory from his mind, drowning it in alcohol.

  “Think, Mr. Blair. Did she appear scared?”

  Blair sat back and rub the heels of his palms on his closed eyes. He saw her face, tan from hours playing in the sun. A grin, a few teeth shy, sparkled at him. Then came the vision of her limp body in his arms, blood dripping. Her dirty face nuzzled against his chest. “Daddy. He came for us, Daddy. You weren’t here.”

  Mr. Tab quietly asked, “What does your spirit tell you, Jonathan?”

  “I wasn’t there to save them.”

  “What could you have accomplished?”

  “I could have shot back.”

  “At that time, your warrior heart was ill-prepared for such a fight.” Mr. Tab sat emotionless in the chair with his legs crossed. One elbow settled on the backrest. “What could you have done?”

  “Fought for my family. Died trying to save them.”

  “We came to protect them.”

  “Protect them. They died. He came for them.”

  “Who do you think he is?”

  “Pruitt.”

  “Your daughter’s face told a different story.”

  Blair closed his eyes and for the first time he let his memory go to her tiny face as she died. Her tired eyes sprung to life when he arrived as if she woke to Christmas morning. She radiated happiness. “He came for us, Daddy.” Her expression changed, not to disappointment or pain, but sympathy poured from her eyes. “You weren’t here.” He’d have thought he missed out on fresh strawberry pie.

  “We covered them. His light embraced them. They endured no pain or fear.”

  Blair sobbed.

  “Just Him. He took it all.”

  “I miss them.” Blair’s voice cracked.

  “I know.”

  “I want to see them again.”

  Mr. Tab gave a reassuring smile. “One day, you shall.”

  “They aren’t where I’m going.”

  “Your legacy, your story, is not yet told. Your eternal soul still has time to find its way. Your grieving must end.”

  Mr. Tab quietly left the room.

  * * *

  The man running through town had András Kovách’s attention. He headed straight for them.

  “Come on in, son.” Mayor Burdett escorted him inside the mine office. “Can someone get this man something to drink?”

  He dripped sweat onto the floor.

  “What’s your name, son,” András asked.

  Another miner brought the man a glass of water.

  “Thanks. My name’s Victor.” He chugged it than wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “They’re in the mine.” “Who is in the mine?” András asked.

  “The vampires.”

  “Two of us were going in and got to the main tunnel. They were just standing there in the dark doing nothing. Jim Peterson, my partner, made a noise and the next thing I knew, they were tearing him into pieces. I ran like hell.”

  “How many were in the mine?”

  “Too many.” Victor bent over and leaned on his knees breathing hard. “The tunnel was full.”

  “That would explain why we haven’t found any in the buildings,” András said to the mayor.

  “Let’s blow that thing up,” Burdett said. “Put an end to this. There’s plenty of dynamite around to plug that entrance.”

  “But how would we know?” András asked. He wouldn’t leave without seeing this to the end.

  “Know what?”

  András raised his eyebrows. “If we killed them.”

  “Oh, no.” Burdett waved his hands in front of his chest. “I ain’t going in there.
You’re crazy if you do.”

  “We have to be sure.”

  “They’ll die of starvation.”

  “Not if they feast on each other. If there is enough coal left in the ground the company will open her up again, as soon as it can, and let out whatever is left of the night stalkers.” András knew greed. But the mine company thrived by it.

  “Oh, hell.” Burdett paced back and forth. He threw his hat on the floor. “I’m mayor of a damn, vampire-infested town. That’s a hell of a way to go down in history.”

  “I’ll help,” Victor said. He had caught his breath and was sitting on the edge of a desk. “Too many of my friends have died to just to leave it like it is.”

  Biztos ami biztos. Kovách put his hand on Burdett’s shoulder. “We have to end this.”

  * * *

  Frederick Worthington, Miss Katy Lee and the bodyguard waited in the empty hall for Mr. Tab. The angel shut the door to her room where Blair cried.

  “He must sleep,” the angel said.

  “What happened in there?” Miss Katy Lee asked.

  “He came to a revelation regarding the commencement of his situation.”

  Miss Katy Lee wrinkled her face. “What does that mean?”

  Mr. Tab cocked his head at her, then to the professor.

  “I think Blair discovered something about his past.” Worthington checked with the angel to confirm the interpretation.

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say that?” Miss Katy Lee said.

  “I did. He will require nourishment when he awakes.”

  “I’ll see he gets some food.” She winked at Worthington. “I understand him, now.”

  The professor smiled back. The woman truly cared for Jonathan. That must be something he’d been denied for many years.

  “Can I ask you something?” Miss Katy Lee said to Mr. Tab.

  He nodded.

  “For a being created to worship God, you’re awfully…dry. I mean, you show no emotions.”

  “Worship is not my function.”

  “Then what is?”

  “War.” Mr. Tab walked to the balcony and placed his hands on the railing overlooking the crowded saloon. “Fear rises from this floor. Where is Mr. Jones? Worthington searched the faces of those below until he found him. “Pastor Jones. Pastor Jones, come up here, please.”

  Jones held up one finger and finished the conversation he was having with two men. The pastor climbed the stairs to meet the group.