Currency of Souls

by Kealan Patrick Burke

  “Do no such thing.”

  “Reverend,” Cobb says. “This ain’t how he’s supposed to go anyhow, so what harm is there in fixin’ him up?”

  I look squarely at Cobb. “Can you help them?”

  He nods frantically.

  “Will you?”

  Everybody present knows what it will cost Cobb if he does, but damned if he doesn’t go on nodding that big old shaggy head of his. For a brief moment my envy extends from Wintry to this sad old man with his sagging body, who, if nothing else, has the kind of heart most of us would, and have, killed for.

  But then the Reverend glances up at him and scowls. “You stay out of this, Cobb. When we need the black magic of heathens, you’ll be the first to know. ”

  The dying kid fixes the nudist with an odd look. “Your name’s Cobb?”

  Cobb, equally perplexed, nods. “Yeah. Why?”

  The Reverend sighs. “Shut your goddamn mouth. Now listen here, kid. All I want from you is a simple answer. This town’s reserved for the dreamless, the lost and the hopeless. You may be a no-good piece of shit, but I bet you’ve got ambitions, right?”

  “Sure. Seeing another sunrise was one of them.”

  “From somewhere other than Milestone.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why is it, then, that instead of being in the driver seat of your nice new—stolen—midnight blue Corvette heading North, right the hell out of this burg, maybe with that filthy whore of yours giving you a blowjob while you listen to some of the devil’s music on the stereo…why is it that you’re sitting here dying?”

  Brody’s eyes widen until they seem to fill his face. “Shit, I’m dying?” He starts to chuckle. “Fuck me, Dean. Looks like we get to do that duet after all.”

  The Reverend slaps him, a quick dry open-handed slap that knocks the mirth right off the kid’s face. He looks stunned, his breath coming in short hard rasps, then angry. “Preacher,” he says, mustering as much iron into his words as he can. “You’re lucky I’m down or I’d have to beg my Momma for forgiveness for busting your nose.”

  And on hearing that, God forgive me, I find myself warming to the bastard.

  “Answer the question, sonny,” Reverend Hill tells him. “Now, or I guarantee that shot to the gut will seem like a bee sting by the time I’m done with you. You see, here we follow a strict set of guidelines. Sinners atone for their sins by ridding the world of filth, just like them. There are outposts like this everywhere. Each one has its own methods too. Here at Eddie’s, you get to drive. But seeing as how you’re past doing anything of the kind, and therefore, all but useless to me, you’d better start answering my questions. So, for the last time, why are you here?”

  Brody ignores the priest and glances at Cobb again. “She had the same name as you.”

  Cobb blanches. “Who did?”

  Brody starts shaking, worse than before, and suddenly his eyes are on me with such intensity, even Hill looks over his shoulder. “Sheriff,” the kid says. “Mind if I give you something?”

  “Go right ahead, as long as it isn’t a bullet.”

  “In my pocket…two twenty dollar bills and a five.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you give them to that man there?”

  “Cobb?”

  “Yes.”

  I resist the urge to ask him why he didn’t just get Cobb to take it himself.

  “Not much life in you,” Hill says, dropping to his haunches. “Better start talking. Just because you die doesn’t mean I can’t reach you.”

  Brody swallows, looks at Cobb, then away. “She came out of nowhere.”

  Cobb takes a step forward, but is stopped by the Reverend’s glare and Wintry’s hand on his shoulder. “What’s he talkin’ about?”

  “Your wife, I expect,” Hill says, with no emotion at all, then reaches forward and tilts the kid’s head up until their eyes meet. “Am I right?”

  “We didn’t see her. She must have had her lights off. And if you don’t get your fucking hand off me, Preacher, I swear I’ll use every last ounce of my strength…to put you through the wall.”

  As I’m listening, I picture Eleanor Cobb, hunched over her steering wheel, trying to look as small and inconspicuous as possible, afraid of being seen by anyone, even in the storm, lights turned off on a quiet road because she doesn’t imagine she’ll encounter another car, and doesn’t want to draw attention to herself if she does. But she hasn’t counted on a thief and his woman traveling on that same quiet road, pedal to the metal, eager to be clear of a town that reeks of death.

  I lower my head. “Jesus.”

  “Hang on, kid,” Cobb says, and his tone is both desperate and disbelieving. “You must be mistaken. She doesn’t come to get me. She never does.”

  “She did tonight,” Hill says.

  “No.”

  “I took her wallet. Figured…with the state she was in…she wouldn’t need it. Saw her name…I’m sorry…you can have the money…I’m—”

  I look up in time to see Cobb lunging for the kid, but Wintry’s got him in a firm hold, and all Cobb can do is struggle until the strength leaves him and he turns, embraces the big black man and weeps uncontrollably.

  “Get him a drink and sit him down,” I tell Wintry, and he does. I’m surprised anyone is listening to me. On nights as wild as these, badges count for nothing.

  All the fight has left Cobb.

  Reverend Hill stands up and scratches his chin. He sighs heavily. “Sheriff,” he says. “Looks like you and I have a bit of a problem.”

  Chapter Four

  Considering the amount of blood on the chair and the floor beneath him, I don’t reckon the kid has much time left. His face is the color of fresh snow and he’s propped up against the bar like a guy who’s had too much to drink and is trying to remember where the hell he’s found himself. And, aside from the drink part, maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing.

  The girl on the bar turns her head. Her tears are silent. Seems all the fight has left her too. She closes her eyes, jerking occasionally and gasping as Flo and Gracie tend to her. “She’s goin’ to die if we don’t do somethin’,” Flo informs me, and it’s hardly a revelation, but the one man willing to do something is way past doing it now. It’s not like I can waltz up to Cobb and ask him to mend the people who killed his wife. That’s the saddest part of all. I doubt he’d have been all that worried if his gift allowed him to raise the dead. But it doesn’t. He can heal, that’s it, and only wounds, not diseases. And right now, I’m willing to bet Cobb’s second-guessing the limits of his power, wondering if it might work on his wife.

  The priest turns to look at me. “You’ve got a job to do, Sheriff. Lucky for you, there’ll soon be one less victim to worry about. Your boy gets that one. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it?”

  “What is it you want me to do, exactly?”

  “You gonna just let me die?” Brody croaks. “I knew there was a reason this town stank.”

  The Reverend shrugs. “No more than you were planning on doing all along. I want you to get in your truck and drive through town, fast as that piece of shit can carry you.”

  “Might want to watch the profanity there, Reverend. It being the mark of an ignorant man an all.”

  “Just do your job.”

  “For what? The kid’s dying and—”

  “Quit saying that, wouldya?” Brody interrupts.

  “—his girl’s bleeding out on the bar.”

  “True…” Hill shows his teeth. “But dying means they aren’t dead yet. I reckon if you work fast and get them in your truck, you can still take care of business. Hell, I’ll give you a break and just get you to take care of the girl.”

  “Can’t you just let this one be?” Flo asks. “She’s with child, for God’s sake.”

  Without glancing her way, Hill says, “As are you, but you wouldn’t expect anyone to forgive you your transgressions just because you spread your legs for a man.”

  Flo doesn’t look
shocked or stunned. She looks angry, and when she looks at Wintry, who is kneeling next to Cobb at the table where I first sat down, that anger turns to shame. Wintry, however, doesn’t look quite so impassive anymore. Sins, the threat of Hell, death and murder don’t make him blink, but finding out he’s a Daddy sure does. His mouth is open, just a little, and I reckon even though he can’t talk, he’s saying something.

  Thunder rolls like boulders across the roof.

  Lightning shows me Cadaver in the corner, counting.

  Me, I feel no more envy. Instead, I feel bolstered a little, aware that all those long-winded old passages you find in the bible about life and death and retribution may mean something after all. All we know, all we have known for as long as I can recall, is death. Now there’s life. Even if we can’t help poor Brody and Carla, even if we can’t save her baby, Flo is pregnant, and the significance of that single fact is so great it makes my head hurt and my heart beat a little faster. Flo, a creature of death, is carrying life. Untainted life. Life Reverend Hill, for all his threats and blustering, cannot reach. Yet.

  Flo is pregnant.

  And whether or not she ends up filling that empty vessel with hate, or sadness, or sin, right now, for me, it represents just the tiniest bit of hope.

  It’s enough.

  And it would seem I’m not alone in feeling that.

  Without any of us, even the supposedly all-knowing Reverend, hearing his approach, Kyle is standing next to the priest, and the gun that has held so much meaning tonight, is gripped firmly in his hand again, the determination I’ve watched for three years back on his face, the muzzle nestled firmly against Hill’s temple.

  “I’m not driving tonight,” I tell the priest, but Kyle has other ideas.

  “Yes you are.”

  I look at him, wondering if this is how he finally intends to rid himself of his long-dead father. A man, who, despite all the nightmares and all the people he’s killed on someone else’s behalf, only ever felt guilty for the death he didn’t cause. Cold as that sounds, I reckon there’s a lot of truth to it.

  “Me and you and the Reverend are going to take a ride tonight,” Kyle says. “We’re going to take that girl with us, and we’re going to get her to Doctor Hendricks.”

  The priest chuckles. “Is that so?”

  “Shit,” Brody intones, struggling to sit up straighter. “What about me?”

  He is ignored. We’re not going to abandon him. That much I know. Not if there’s a chance to save him. But Kyle’s calling the shots now, so we’re going to play it his way for the time being. The girl looks a lot worse off, so she goes first, is what I’m guessing is Kyle’s reasoning here, though it would be just as easy to take them both. Maybe I’ll suggest that once the gun’s been lowered.

  “Yeah, that is so,” he says in response to Hill. The gun trembles in his grasp. I’m not yet at the point where I’m doubting my earlier opinion on whether my son will ever shoot a man again, but I’m not confident. What I am, however, is damn proud.

  “Let me ask you something, Kyle. What exactly do you think shooting me will accomplish? Do you think I’ll just drop like a rock? Like all these other weaklings? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the landlord here. Everyone answers to me, just as there are higher forces I answer to when the work has been done. When their penance has been done. And you, boy, have a lot of making up to do.”

  “And when is the penance done, huh? How many corpses amount to penance in your eyes? Ten, twenty, a hundred?”

  “You’ll know when it’s done.”

  “Right,” Kyle tells him. “When you’ve had your fill, maybe, you sick fuck.”

  The Reverend sighs. “Is it your intention to see how much suffering you can bring upon yourself? Pull that trigger then and we’ll all see just how—”

  Without warning, Kyle does as he is asked. The Reverend stands where he is for a moment, then topples. The echo of the gunshot rivals the rage of the storm and the sound of blood dripping could be the rain tapping on the window. What used to be Reverend Hill’s head is now spread across the wall next to where Flo is standing, spattered in his blood. She doesn’t seem at all put out, merely inconvenienced. Her eyes, white periods in a gore-smeared face, widen. “There’s no way it can be that easy.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “He’s down, and that’s the end of it.”

  And yet no one moves. Instead we watch Hill’s corpse warily, waiting for some sign of the power that has kept us bound for years. We half-expect the brains splashed across the wall to fly back into the man’s ruined skull, the blood to return to the cavity Kyle’s bullet burst open, the wound to heal. We wait for the Reverend to rise, murderous rage contorting his sallow face as he chooses which of us to destroy first. We wait. We watch.

  But what happens is infinitely more surprising.

  Nothing.

  The all-powerful Reverend just lies there, minus most of his head, and deader than dog shit.

  “I’ve never in all my years seen so much blood,” Gracie says, and it sounds like a comment that should be followed by tears. But this is Gracie, and I’m willing to put money down that she’s already stressing over the cleanup. “Guess he was just a man after all.”

  “I want to go home,” the girl on the bar says, and that pulls us from our trance-like state of expectancy.

  “We’ll get you there, honey.” Flo’s hands tremble as she sleeves some of the priest’s blood from her face.

  “It’s gonna be all right babe,” Brody soothes, though he’s in too much pain to sound sincere. “We’ll be out of here soon, then it’ll just be you, me and Dino.”

  Kyle is still holding the gun out, still pressing it against the ghost of Hill’s temple, and I put a hand on his forearm, urge him to lower it before it goes off and adds someone else to the rapidly rising number of dead. For a moment he resists, then the tension ebbs away.

  “It’s okay son.”

  “Kyle,” he mutters.

  “What?”

  “You don’t get to call me ‘son’.”

  “Okay.”

  Wintry is still tending to Cobb. The old man has downed half a bottle of whiskey. I’m sure wherever his mind is, it doesn’t know what just happened, and maybe that’s for the best. Wintry locks gazes with me and in that brief glance, we’re like two old farts trading war stories. What’s happened here tonight won’t ever be forgotten, no more than will the things that led us here, the errors in judgment, the wrong turns, the simple little mistakes that all add up to an express elevator ride right into a nightmare no amount of waking up can cure. But this is a lull, and a welcome one, and I figure everyone (except maybe Brody and the girl) is going to savor it before the next unwelcome development. For however briefly, this is Eddie’s bar, the only functioning water hole in a near-dead town, and right now, for the first time ever, these people truly are my friends.

  Wintry goes back to silently consoling the inconsolable Cobb. Gracie heads into the ladies room and emerges with a mop and bucket that are filthier than the floor but don’t, to my knowledge, have human remains on them. Flo tries to get the girl to stand up. It isn’t going to happen.

  “We need to take him too,” I tell Kyle with a nod in Brody’s direction.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Yeah,” Brody adds. “Why? If it’s because you shot a perfectly nice guy like me, and don’t know how to apologize…hell…that’s all water under the bridge.” He grins and there is blood on his teeth. “I don’t hold grudges.”

  “He’s a murderer,” Kyle says.

  I lean in close. “For fuck sake, Kyle. Everyone here is a murderer.”

  “Not like him we’re not. He enjoyed it. Did it on purpose.”

  His logic makes my head swim, and the only thing I’m really sure of is that I don’t agree with it. “Listen, you have to—”

  “Leave him,” Cobb says dreamily, as if our banter has woken him from a doze.

  Everyone looks i
n his direction. He, however, does not look at us.

  “Cobb…”

  “Leave him. I’ll take care of him.”

  I can’t be blamed for taking that like it sounds. Sure, Cobb can heal folks, but considering we’re talking about the man who just killed his wife, I don’t imagine healing has anything to do with it.

  “Take care of him how?”

  “Fix him up, Sheriff. What else?” His eyes are swollen from crying, his face almost as pale as Brody’s.

  “Any number of things,” I reply. “He can die on his own if that’s what you’re figuring to help him with.”

  “I said I’ll fix him up. Weren’t like he killed Ellie on purpose.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No. I don’t.” He takes another slug of whiskey. “But why are we here?”

  I don’t know how to answer that. Seems no one does. But for the low whimpering of the girl, the room’s awful quiet.

  “We come here to try to make peace when there ain’t none to be had. We come here to be forgiven. Way I figure it, Sheriff, is if I don’t do what every ounce of me wants to do to this kid, and instead I fix him up, like I want to be fixed up myself, like I can never be fixed up, then maybe it’ll count for somethin’ in this great goddamn plan we’re all so fuckin’ tangled up in. What do you think?”

  I consider that for a moment because it’s worth considering. Then: “I think you may be onto something,” I tell him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I look at the girl. “What about her?”

  “Nothing I can do for her. Maybe Hendricks can pull a miracle out of his hat, but not me.” He glances down at Brody. “She’s too far gone.”

  Brody sighs shakily, tries to stand and fails. Although Cobb has agreed to help the kid, I figure we’ve just seen his revenge. Telling the kid his girl is going to die is about the only weapon he has left to use, I guess. Hurt him as much as possible before he heals him.

  “All right.”

  Cobb nods, and goes back to his drink. “Don’t leave Ellie out there on the road, Tom. She deserves better.”