“And then I killed him,” said Carl, sullenly.
“Yes you did, Carl. But it needed to be done. When I was finished with John, he was back to being his old self. He didn’t recall the last hundred or so odd years he spent here on Earth because he wasn’t himself when he lived them. His last memory was of the day he died in Colorado. He was fresh and clean and ready to join me in Heaven.”
The girl then put a hand on Carl’s shoulder, which to Lucy, shouldn’t have been possible considered that Carl was twice as tall as the girl. Yet she managed it anyway, and without any outward appearance that she was breaking all known laws of physics. Lucy knew it should look odd, but it didn’t and so Lucy promptly forgot all about it.
“Don’t fret on it Carl,” the girl said. “He’s not supposed to be alive. He died on November 8th, 1887. He should have been in Heaven over a hundred years ago. You just helped put him where he belonged.”
“But, he killed my son.” Beatrice said, anger creeping into her voice.
“Did he?” the girl responded.
“Mommy?” Danny’s voice sounded behind them. “Daddy?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BURT STOOD IN DISBELIEF alongside his equally confused wife.
His boy was dead. Danny was dead. He had died. Yet, here he was. Smiling.
“I want some gum,” the boy said, causing Burt and his wife to burst into tears. They both dropped to their knees and pulled Danny into a hug.
“Why are you crying?” Danny asked.
Burt and Beatrice just laughed and continued holding on to their little boy. Burt turned his head to look at the girl.
“I don’t understand,” Burt said. “He was dead.”
“He wasn’t supposed to die,” the little girl replied. “That was not his purpose. He’s meant for greater things in this world.”
“Thank you,” Burt said, tears running down his furry face. “Thank you!”
And that was how it was for a time. Burt and Beatrice, holding tight to their boy, afraid to let go. Neither one daring to speak. Both content to just remain as such for as long as they could. Danny however, had other plans.
“Uh, guys,” Danny said from within his parent’s embrace. “What about my gum?”
Everyone laughed, including Tim, Lucy, and Carl. Even the little girl giggled just a bit as Beatrice handed Danny a stick of gum.
“Why’s everyone looking at me?” Danny asked as he chewed.
And everyone laughed again.
“We’re just happy to see you,” Beatrice said, hugging Danny close again.
“We sure are,” said Lucy, drawing close to Tim as he wrapped his arms around her.
Burt noticed that Carl was taking the time to cover Doc’s body with Doc’s own jacket. Burt appreciated that from Carl, Danny didn’t need to see something like that, and it got Burt to thinking that he might want to get Danny inside.
“Why don’t we move all of this into the house,” Burt said. “I think the kitchen should still be relatively intact. And maybe there might be a little of the lobster bisque left.” Burt smiled at Lucy, causing her to blush in embarrassment.
The kitchen was still intact. That wasn’t too big of a surprise. The kitchen was in another area of the house, after all. Not at all close to where the panic room was located. There was some lobster bisque left, but it had been sitting out in the open for so long that it had made everyone feel like it might be a bit unsafe to eat. So Burt made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for everyone as they sat at one of the counters.
“I guess I still don’t understand what happened to Doc,” Carl said as Burt handed out the sandwiches. “I mean, I understand what was done to him by,” Carl looked over at Danny, “well ... his boss. But I just don’t get why me doing, well,” he looked over and Danny again, “you know, doing what I did helped Doc in any way.”
The little girl finished chewing before she spoke, “To go back to our feather pillow analogy, when John Holliday burned through his power, he was left with only that one white feather. That one feather was all that was left of his soul. I was able to fill Doc’s pillowcase up by building upon that last feather. Doc then reverted back to the man he was just before he died.”
Everyone in the kitchen had forgotten their sandwiches as they took in what the girl was saying. Everyone except Danny who was almost dancing in his seat as he ate.
“Tim, when you and Carl attacked John that last time, he was confused. He didn’t know where he was, so he reacted in the only way he knew how. He pulled his guns. We know what happened after that.”
They all looked over at Danny.
“What?” Danny asked, his mouth full of food.
They all laughed together.
“Well,” the girl continued. “We know what happened after that. Once Carl was,” she glanced quickly at Danny, “finished with John, John asked for forgiveness. There’s a lot that John had done in his life – his life before his first death – that I’m not happy about. But the one thing John had never done, was to cause the death of a child. In those last few moments, that weighed heavy on his soul, and so he asked for forgiveness. And forgiveness is what he got.”
“So Doc is in Heaven?” Carl asked.
“Right where he belongs,” the girl replied.
They all finished their sandwiches in silence. The girl then excused herself and rose to leave, but before she could get more than a few steps, Danny jumped down from his seat and ran to her.
“May I hug you?” Danny asked as Burt and Beatrice stood with eyes full of pride.
“Of course, Danny. I would love a hug.”
“Thank you,” Danny said as he hugged her.
“You are most welcome, Danny.”
And with that, she was gone.
Carl left not too long after that, telling Burt that he would be filing a report about the incident with his superiors, but that he would leave out all the stuff about God and the Devil and Doc Holliday’s real identity. Doc would just be another John Doe as far as the local police would be concerned.
“Of course,” Carl said, tears welling up in his eyes, “there really isn’t much left of our police force, or fire department for that matter.”
Burt laid a hand on his shoulder.
“They were my friends, Burt. They were good people. God may be able to forgive Doc for killing them all, but I don’t know if I ever will.”
“I’m sorry, Carl. I really am.”
“I’ll call the State Police once I’m back at the station. They’ll want to know what happened to the troopers they sent here earlier. Of course, I suppose 911 has been lit up like a Christmas tree ever since Doc started firing into that crowd of people outside. I’m sure you’ll see some form of law enforcement here before I’m near a phone.”
“You can use ours, Carl. It’s right there on the wall.” Burt pointed at a cordless phone sitting in a cradle on the wall.
“No, that’s okay. I think you and Bea and Danny deserve a little quiet before someone shows in an official capacity. It’s going to be a while before it’s quiet around here again after that happens.”
Carl shook Burt’s hand, gave Beatrice and Danny a hug, and started to leave.
“Not yet you don’t,” Lucy shouted to him. She walked over to Carl and hugged him tight before kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
“What was that for?” Carl asked as his face went red.
“You saved my life. Doc would have killed me if you hadn’t have done what you did. Thank you, Carl.”
“Well, I was just doing what any officer of the law
would do,” Carl said, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.
“You put your life on the line for my girl,” Tim said, offering his hand. “You ever need anything, you give me a call.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.”
Burt walked Carl to what used to be the front door and watched as he walked away.
When he got back to the kitchen, Burt saw that Lucy and Tim were preparing to leave.
“So, where are you two off to?” Burt asked once the hugs and handshakes were out of the way.
“The nearest preacher, if she’ll have me,” Tim said. “What do you say, Lucy?”
“What are you asking me, Tim?” Lucy asked, a little redness creeping up into her cheeks.
Tim dropped to one knee and took her hand in his.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes! Of course I will!” she cried, tears of happiness and joy streaming down her face.
“I’ll tell you what,” Burt said. “If you two can wait until everything here calms down, we would love it if the two of you got married right here in our house.”
“Oh yes,” Beatrice agreed. “We’d love to have the both of you.”
“That’s a kind offer,” Tim said, looking into Lucy’s eyes. “But I don’t think this can wait. I mean to see the two of us wed as soon as humanly possible.”
“I guess that means we’re going to Vegas,” Lucy smiled.
“Then here,” said Burt, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to Tim, who caught them deftly.
“What’s this?” Tim asked.
“Consider it a wedding present. Those are the keys to my new car.”
“What?” Tim asked.
“Well, we can’t expect you to walk to Vegas, now can we.”
They all laughed and hugged, and soon Tim and Lucy were driving off into the horizon leaving Burt, Beatrice, and Danny alone.
“I guess we got some cleaning up to do,” Beatrice said.
“What do say, son?” Burt asked Danny. “You ready to help your mom and dad clean this mess up?”
Burt smiled as he watched Danny give this suggestion some serious thought. Then, after much deliberation, the boy had come to a decision and spoke.
“How about we play Legos instead?”
EPILOGUE
JOHN HENRY “DOC” HOLLIDAY opened his eyes to a blinding white light.
The light dissipated and he found that he sat at a table in a saloon. The white light shone in at him from the street beyond the double swing-back doors. He couldn’t make out anything from outside the doors. It was only light, as white as he had ever seen. But the light didn’t burn his eyes, as bright as it was. If anything, the light made him feel good and at peace.
Doc took in the saloon. He was alone but for the bartender who stood behind the bar, wiping out glasses with a dirty rag and just generally ignoring his presence. A deck of cards lay on the table in front of him along with a glass of whisky and a lit cigar smoldering away in an ash tray. He wasn’t sure what it was about this place, but he felt comfortable here. He felt as if he’d been here before, though he knew he hadn’t. It was almost as if parts of the saloon were made up of all his favorite saloons from Ft. Griffith, Dodge City, and Tombstone. He had always felt more at home in a saloon, and this one was the homiest yet.
A part of him wanted to get up and explore these new surroundings, see what there was outside, but a larger part of him decided instead to pick up the deck of cards and give them a real good shuffle. He felt that he should stay put. He somehow knew, from somewhere deep inside himself, that he was here to meet someone. Once they arrived, then he would go with them to the place beyond the doors. Out into the light.
So he shuffled the cards, took a drink of the whisky, a long pull from the cigar, and started to deal the cards out before him for a nice game of solitaire.
Soon he heard the distinctive sound of boots on wood from outside, and he looked up as the doors to the saloon swung open and three men walked in. All three were well dressed in black suits with white shirts and black string ties, black hats, and boots. None of them went heeled. Which suddenly made Doc realize that he too was not armed, though the fact did not alarm him in the slightest. Not only did he feel perfectly safe here, he knew all three of these men. They were old friends.
The younger of the three approached the table first with a broad smile and his arms open wide. Doc stood and the two embraced, pounding each other on the back in the way that men do.
“It’s about time you got here, Doc,” the young man said, laughing and pounding away at Doc’s back. “Don’t know what took you so long, but by God it’s good to see you!”
“It’s good to see you too, Morgan,” Doc said, pulling back from the man and holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length.
Doc put his left arm around Morgan and held his right hand out to the older of the three men and said, “Virgil, you’re looking well. I see you have the use of both arms now.”
The older man, Virgil, took Doc’s hand in both of his, “Good Lord, Doc. If anyone looks well it’s you.” The two smiled.
Virgil and Morgan stood aside as Doc and the third man looked each other over.
“Wyatt,” Doc said, inclining his head slightly in a nod of salutations.
“Doc,” Wyatt replied, returning the head nod.
“You two girls best stop holding hands and pouring your hearts out all over the place here. You’re making the bunch of us uncomfortable,” Morgan cajoled.
They all laughed as Doc and Wyatt embraced.
“I missed you, Doc,” Wyatt said.
“I missed you too, Wyatt. It’s been too long.”
They held their embrace for a moment longer before stepping back from each other.
“Well, let’s go, Doc,” Wyatt said, gesturing to the doors.
“Lead on Wyatt,” Doc said, clapping his friend on the back as they made their way to the front of the saloon. “I’m as ready as I ever will be.”
And so the four men walked out of the saloon and into the light. Three brothers, and a cherished friend.
The bartender smiled quietly to himself as he watched them go. And suddenly, standing in the place of the bartender was a little girl. She was about five or six years old and wore a pair of faded jeans, scuffed white tennis shoes, and a pink shirt with a big white star in the center of it. Her short, light brown hair was done up in no less than six pigtails spread out across the top of her head while her bangs rested just above her eyebrows.
“Welcome home, John,” she whispered.
The End
AUTHOR’S FINAL THOUGHTS
Here’s the part where I thank all the people who helped make this story possible. But before I do, I feel I should explain the thought behind the use of a character that, for some, may have come straight out of left field. I can say, with all honesty, that the inclusion of Doc Holliday into this tale was nothing more than an act of purest whimsy.
Originally, the Beast was going to be the big bad of the tale, but the further I got in to it, the more I began to think that it might be more fun to throw an even bigger bad in there and turn the Beast into one of the good guys and allow him, of course, to get the girl. At the time, I worked nights and weekends as a Photo Specialist for a local Walgreens. I had a notebook with me that I would use to write down my thoughts and ideas for this, and other, stories, and it was as I stood at the end of the massive photo printer, boxing up print after print as they fell out the far end, that the idea of Doc Holliday first took hold.
At first, the big bad that would show up at the Brick House and kill
Colin was meant to be a hulking, cigar smoking, red skinned demon with the head of red gorilla and ram’s horns. Then I started to think that maybe the villain should be a villain from one of the old fairy tales. The problem was that no one I liked really sprang to mind.
Then Doc Holliday walked into my brain room, sat down, poured himself a drink, and said hello. I was against it at first. It didn’t make sense. What does Doc Holliday have to do with Goldilocks and Three Bears, or even fairy tales in general? But then the idea took hold and made me smile as I imagined the possibilities. It really wasn’t until I thought of using Doc Holliday that the ending of the story really began to take hold. Up until that point I was literally just making it up as I went, no end in sight, and no idea where I was going. Then came Doc and everything just fell into place.
So, while I was worried that readers would throw the book down in disgust (which I wouldn’t recommend if you’re reading the eBook) when the reveal of the big bad turned out to be Doc Holliday, my own selfishness won out in the end, and I soldiered onward with my folly.
Okay, it’s on the the thanks and the gratitude.
First, I want to thank Harold Jennett. He was a huge support mechanism during the two years it took to write this little tale. He put me on the path, he allowed me to bounce ideas off of him, he created the freaking cover, and he pretty much came up with the title. Thanks, Harold. You are a good friend.
Next, Eric White. Like Harold, he’s not only a good friend, he helped a lot as I was designing the cover that I didn’t end up using for the book. Harold’s was just way better than mine. You know, the one thing they don’t tell you when you begin your first steps to self-publish a book is that you need a cover. I mean, yeah, it seems pretty obvious, right? But I hadn’t really taken it into consideration. I am not an artist. I am not a graphic artist. I am not a man with money who can go out and hire someone to put the cover together for me. And frankly, I had begun to be quite angry that the one thing that was going to stop me from publishing this book, after two years of writing, would be the fact that I couldn’t create a cover. Well, I did what I could in Photoshop, but what I had created just didn’t look … professional. That’s what Eric did. He stood up and brought that cover to life. Thanks, Eric. Maybe one day I’ll use the cover for a variant version or something.
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