The dream woke him again. No, not a dream. A memory. A memory while he slept. But wouldn't that be a dream, or more like a nightmare? Except dreams are supposed to end when you wake up.Vin ran his fingers through his sweaty hair as he sat up. As he put his hand down, he noticed it was shaking.
"Shit," he said. A flash of anger shot through him, and he breathed deeply to quiet it, as the Kiowa grandfather had taught him all those years ago. Those flares of anger were coming too frequently for his liking. Ever since that bitch Ella Gaines had come to collect Chris, to fancy him up and lead him around like a goddamn show pony. Vin had known she was no good from the first instant. Something about her was wrong, something putrid and hard behind her eyes, something in that slash of a mouth that was never quite hidden by a smile. But Chris hadn't seen it, or hadn't wanted to see it, and for a while Vin had trusted Chris's instincts over his own. He supposed a man could want a home and a family so much it'd make him blind. Vin didn't blame Chris for that; at least he didn't think he did. He was beginning to wonder if his stabs of anger were all directed at Ella and the havoc she'd caused, or maybe a little bit of it was aimed at Chris. All the same, Vin figured he'd keep it to himself. Chris was hurting. He just sat outside, wrapped in a blanket, looking older than Vin could ever remember him looking. His bullet wound was healing, but rage and guilt and who knew what else was eating his soul. Nope, Chris didn't need condemnation from Vin Tanner. He already got some from Mary, and from the judge, and plenty from himself. Vin was going to keep helping Chris best he could, whether it meant hunting the bitch down and gutting her like a fish, or just sitting quietly and keeping his rage buried. After that, he'd figure out if he was going to stay in this town, or move on.
However, the dreams were making keeping quiet mighty tough. Dream, memory. He saw it when he was awake and asleep. Ella, riding off and him taking aim. She was in his sights; there's no way he could miss. He'd made harder shots in the dark. He pulled the trigger. He felt the kick of the metal against his palm, a feeling he knew better than his own heartbeat. There was a puff as the bullet left the gun and Ella rode on, the bullet missing her completely. In the dream, she was laughing. Outrunning the bullet, and laughing.
Vin shrugged into his coat and hat and left his cramped wagon. He rarely started the day with whiskey; today would be an exception.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Inez brought him some eggs and coffee. He pushed the food away.
"Whiskey," he said.
"Senor?" she asked.
"I want some whiskey," he answered. "Please."
She looked at him. He looked pale and sick, with dark circles under blood shot eyes, but she knew better than to argue with men demanding whiskey, so she brought him a bottle, hoping his friends would be along soon.
Vin poured a shot of whiskey and gulped it down. It hit his empty stomach and threatened to come right back up again. He closed his eyes until the nausea passed, then poured another shot. He was still sweating, so he removed his coat and hat.
He'd just finished his third shot when JD entered the saloon, greeting Inez cheerfully. She nodded back, then looked over at Vin at the corner table. JD followed her gaze.
"Morning, Vin," he said, joining him at the table. He looked at the bottle in front of the sharpshooter. "A little early for whiskey, isn't it?"
"Nope."
"You've really been spending too much time around Chris, " JD said.
Vin paused in the middle of pouring himself another shot. "What the hell does that mean?"
JD sat back a bit at the venom in Vin's voice. He knew the normally placid tracker had a mean streak when riled, but he didn't know what he'd done to bring it out. "Nothing, Vin. You just seem in a real bad mood, that's all."
Vin didn't answer. He didn't mean to take his anger out on JD, but he didn't feel like talking right then either, especially to someone so goddamned cheerful.
Inez brought another plate of eggs for JD. He took several quick bites, looking at Vin from under his dark bangs.
"You feeling all right, Vin? You look a little peaked."
"I'm fine," Vin replied.
"Maybe you caught a cold when you were sleeping outside?"
Vin glanced at him. "When was I sleeping outside?"
JD finished chewing. "At Ella's. When she put us up in that run-down bunk house." Vin continued to look at him in confusion. "Come on, Vin, you remember? Chris got the nice room in the house, we got that dirty bunkhouse with the root cellar. Ezra almost had a fit. And you said you'd rather sleep under the stars."
Vin shrugged. "If ya say so," he said.
"You really don't remember? Did you hit your head in the gunfight? Maybe Nathan should look at you."
"I'm fine, JD. Now give it a rest."
JD held up his hands. "OK, just trying to help. I think I'll finish my breakfast at the bar." He took his plate and moved away.
Vin felt bad for snapping at him, but he was glad to see him go. His head was starting to pound, and the nausea had returned. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his wagon for some quiet, but the town was waking up. Soon it would be filled with people and wagons, and that would be worse than JD's chattering. He debated pouring himself another drink when a sudden crack outside caused him to release the bottle and draw his gun. He pointed it at the batwing doors.
JD saw Vin's reaction and drew his gun as well. "What is it, Vin?" he asked.
Vin didn't answer. He waited for whoever was going to walk through those doors.
The doors pushed open and a man in a brown coat strolled in, holding a piece of paper. He stopped cold at the pair of guns pointed at him.
"Problem, boys?" he asked.
"It's just Buck!" JD exclaimed. "God, Vin, you had me thinking Ella Gaines was going to walk through that door.
Vin exhaled and released the trigger of his gun. You and me both, kid, he thought.
Buck walked to Vin's table and sat down, raising his eyebrows at the whiskey. He glanced at JD, who shrugged. Buck decided to let it go, and pushed the telegram he held across to the tracker.
"That came in this morning. It says Ella's in Purgatory."
"Who's it from?"
"Doesn't say. You think it's a trick?" Buck asked.
"Maybe," Vin answered. His headache was getting worse.
"So what do we do?"
Vin felt incredibly tired. He really didn't want to ride to Purgatory, but he knew he had to. "Ain't up to us," he replied.
"Then we'll ask Chris," Buck said, reaching for the telegram.
Vin slammed his hand down on top of it.
"I'll tell him." He grabbed the telegram, then pushed the bottle over to the ladies' man. "It's on me," he said, and left the saloon. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him, but he had a job to do. He walked to Chris's room quickly, before the pounding in his head and rolling of his stomach could change his mind.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Chris Larabee didn't remember going to bed. He knew sure as hell he didn't sleep, unless the dead silence pummeled his head when he was asleep the same as it did when he was awake. The silence had started at Ella's, after he walked into her...her shrine to the murder of his family. He had seen that and voices had screamed in his head, the voices of his wife and son in agony, unavenged and accusatory, the voices of himself and Ella moaning together in lovemaking. The voices screamed at him, then silenced as he wrapped his hands her throat, but didn't squeeze, didn't break her neck. It was silence like after a gun is cocked and a finger rests on the trigger, silence like a bullet not being fired.
Larabee heard a knock on his door through the silence, but he didn't reply or even turn his head to look. A few minutes later Vin Tanner moved into his line of sight, dressed to ride.
"Hey, cowboy," he said softly. Chris didn't reply. "I thought maybe today we'd go huntin'. There's a telegram says Ella may be in Purgatory."
Chris sat up slowly. He smelled whiskey on Tanner, which would have seemed odd if he'd cared. "We leave now," he said.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Buck watched as Larabee and Tanner rode hell bent out of town. "Ride safe," he said to no one as they disappeared behind a cloud of dust. He then returned to the jail and nudged JD, who was asleep with his feet propped on the desk. "Come on, JD, let's head over to the saloon."
The day turned out to be uneventful. Or boring, as JD described it.
"This day keeps getting longer," JD said as he sat outside the saloon with Buck, tossing a knife at the wood planks at his feet. "I wish something would happen."
"After what we just been through out at Ella's, boring suits me just fine," Buck said.
"Why didn't Chris ask us to go with him?" JD asked. "We could help him find her."
Buck didn't answer right away. "Maybe it's just something he needs to do on his own," he replied.
"But Vin's with him," JD pointed out.
"Well, just cause he's doing it on his own, doesn't mean he don't need somebody to watch his back."
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Vin and Chris rode in silence all the way to Purgatory. Vin noticed Chris's silence, different from usual. Chris normally kept to himself, but he at least knew his surroundings, knew what was going on around him. Now Vin got the impression that Chris didn't know and didn't care. Someone could appear in front of them with a cocked and loaded rifle, and Chris wouldn't flinch, so Vin had to be observant for the both of them, scanning the horizon for dust clouds or glints of sunlight off metal. He realized that he'd gotten real used to having Chris's eyes as well as own. That thought should have given him some comfort, but instead he chided himself. You're getting soft, Tanner, he thought. Relying on somebody else to watch out for you, even if he is a friend. Gonna end up swinging from a rope that way.
They slowed as they reached the outskirts of the Mexican bandit town.
"Got a plan?" Vin asked quietly.
"Find her and shoot her," Chris answered. Vin nodded, glancing over at Chris. His eyes, piercing and icy, were focused straight ahead. His back was board straight. Vin couldn't figure out what his stance meant.
"You all right with this, cowboy?"
Chris didn't look at him. "Don't call me cowboy," he said, and spurred his horse. Vin shook his head slightly, and followed.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Ella wasn't in Purgatory. As far as Vin and Chris could tell from questioning the locals, she'd never been there. One drunken bandito thought he'd seen her a few weeks back outside of Tucson, but after Chris threw him against the wall, nobody else would talk to them.
"Let's find Maria," Chris said, waving off Vin's offer of whiskey. Vin threw back the drink himself and followed Chris's black duster to the back of the cantina.
When they approached the door to Maria's room, they heard a loud crash, and raised voices shouting in Spanish. Chris drew his gun and kicked open the door. Vin pulled out his mare's leg and followed him into the small room. Inside, Maria was struggling with two men. Her lip was bleeding and her dress was torn. One man let go as the door banged open and escaped through the open window, and Vin followed. Chris grabbed the other man and punched him. The man fell to the ground, and Chris dropped to his knees, holding the man by the throat. In his head, he heard only the silence. He didn't hear the chokes and gasps of the man beneath his hands, or Maria's screams pleading with him to stop. Only when she pulled frantically on his arm did he let go and stare down at the purple bulging face below him. He sat down on the edge of the bed. The man, still choking, spit out some Spanish curses then stumbled from the room.
Maria approached the bed tentatively. "Senor Chris?" she said quietly. He looked at her with empty eyes. She sat down next to him and pulled his head down to her shoulder. "Don't let them beat you, Senor Chris. Don't let them win."
Vin followed the other man through the dirt alleys of the town. He limped slightly from landing on his ankle wrong, and the bandito was outrunning him. The man jumped on a horse 200 yards ahead and sped off. Vin stopped and aimed his gun at the shoulder of the fleeing man. One thing he had picked up from Chris - you don't shoot nobody in the back. Well, the arm ain't the back, he figured. He fired the gun at the bandito, and missed his target. By a long shot.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
The sound of gunshots raises no alarm among the people of Purgatory, nor does a man nearly choked to death in a prostitute's room. After watching Maria straighten her clothes, avoiding his eyes, he bought her a bottle of whiskey, which she accepted in silence. He knew what he was capable of. Although he'd never choked somebody near to death with his bare hands before, he knew his own violence well enough not to be surprised. He didn't feel remorse or repulsion, although he knew he should. He felt nothing. Just the silence.
Ella wasn't in this town. Whatever Vin had heard had been wrong, or made up. If she was smart, she was long gone-back up north or down further into Mexico. But she was also crazy, obsessed. He was counting on her sticking close to him, then he'd kill her. And it would be over. The silence, the violence, all of it. It wasn't just about vengeance anymore. He needed to kill her to free himself. Free himself for what, he didn't know, but he was chained, like Tantalus, grasping for the fruit out of his reach. Ella wanted him, he wanted her dead. Their obsessions linked them in a dance in the shadows that was going to end in blood.
He paid the bartender for the whiskey and gave some extra coins to Maria, and left the cantina to look for Vin.
The gunshots continued in a regular pattern, almost like a shooting gallery. The darkness around the town was thick; no fires or lanterns exposed the deeds going on in the shadows and corners. Chris followed the sound of the gunshots behind the cantina. He saw Vin profiled in the wan moonlight, reloading his gun.
"Vin," Chris said. Vin nodded to him but said nothing. When he'd finished reloading, he aimed the mare's leg at a bottle set on a fence post. He pulled the trigger and missed. The bullet could be heard landing in the dirt.
"Hard to aim in the dark," Chris said.
"I can see fine," Vin answered, firing again, and again missing. This time wood splintered where the bullet hit a different post.
"You hurt your arm chasing that Mexican?" Chris asked.
"Nope." Another shot, another miss.
"Maybe the sight's off." Vin paused, then handed the gun to Chris. The mare's leg was heavier than his Colt, but he adjusted, aimed, and fired. The bottle exploded and shattered as the bullet hit it. Chris silently handed the gun back to Vin.
"We should get some sleep," Chris said finally. "We got a long ride ahead of us."
"Ride to where?" Vin asked.
"Ella's ranch."
Vin had aimed the gun again, this time at the knob on top of the fence post. He paused for a second at Chris's words, then fired, and missed.
"You'll need to fix that before we get there," Chris said, and turned to walk back to the cantina.
Vin watched him leave, his gun held loose at his side. He felt the anger rising in his throat, and tried to swallow it, but it kept rising, like a slow flood. He raised the gun and aimed at the fence again, picturing Ella in front of him instead of wood. He knew it wouldn't work before he pulled the trigger. He'd missed when he'd had her in his sights for real. But why had he missed, he wondered. Why was he missing now? What had that woman done to him? She'd killed Chris's family, nearly killed Chris, but she'd done him no wrong. In fact, she completely ignored him, as if he was a scraggly mongrel following Chris around. Then why all the anger? Whenever he felt close to an answer, the rage surfaced again, and this time he didn't fight it. He emptied the rest of his gun into the black night, not caring where the bullets landed.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Chris and Vin left Purgatory at first light. Neither had slept. Neither spoke. Chris felt a slight hum of exhilaration at the prospect of finding Ella, at making her pay for the death of his family. He knew she went back to her house; she had to. That's where they had been together, and he suspected Ella wanted to be found. He wasn't going to make her wait.
When he had found out what Ella had done, he knew his tormented soul could finish dying. All his searching, all his questions were over. He'd had a goal-to find whoever took his family from him. Now that goal had a face, and the closer he got to Ella's, the clearer that purpose became. He'd had some lingering doubts early on, questions that nagged at him, like why had it taken her so long to find him after she'd killed his family, and why did Fowler say his employer was a man, and that he was after Chris. He'd silenced those questions, just like he'd silenced everything else, and now the silence surrounded him like a blanket, so thick that he almost didn't hear Vin.
"How 'bout we stop up at that waterin' hole, cowboy-er, Chris. Horses could use it, and I could too." Chris nodded and they headed for the water.
As the horses munched on grass, Vin set an empty can on a nearby rock. He closed his eyes and tried again to recall the Kiowa teachings for courage and calm. At first, all he saw was blackness, but he could hear. Hear the bitch's laughter, over and over. He tried to block it out, to instead hear the wind overhead, the whisper through the trees, the slow murmur of the water, but the harder he concentrated, the louder the laughter got, until he opened his eyes with a gasp. That sure as hell isn't working, he thought. He aimed and fired.
"Damn," he said as the bullet went wide right, landing in the water and causing the horses to start before returning to the grass.
"What's the matter with you?" Chris said from where he sat under a nearby tree.
"Don't know," Vin replied. He aimed and fired again. At least this time he hit the rock, but still missed the can.
"You're no good to me if you can't shoot straight," Chris said. Vin turned to look at him. Their eyes met and neither could read the expression there.
"Ya want me ta leave, just gotta say so," Vin said, looking beyond Chris to the water.
Chris paused, long enough for Vin to think he was going to send him home. Home. He almost laughed out loud at the word.
"That's not what I want," Chris said finally, standing. "Let's go."
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
They stopped for the night still a day's ride from Ella's old place. They ate in silence, each lost in thought. Chris tossed down his plate and stood. He took the shotgun.
"I can't sleep. I'll watch."
Vin instantly remembered another night when Chris couldn't sleep, keeping him awake with his incessant fidgeting. It seemed like years ago, like it had never happened at all. The constant motion was gone; Chris stood as a sentry, eyes focused on blackness. It was on the tip of Vin's tongue to repeat his offer, hoping maybe to ease some of the rigidity out of Chris' stance as he surveyed the plains beyond the campfire, but Vin knew his offer would be scorned, if acknowledged at all. Instead he lay back with his head resting on his saddle, fingering the harmonica that had calmed him so often in the past, but now was only a piece of dented metal. He stuffed it back in his pocket and closed his eyes, not expecting to sleep.
The dream he had started the same as all the others. Ella galloping away, Chris writhing in agony behind him. He aimed and fired, and was surprised when the fleeing figure jolted with the impact of the bullet and plunged off the horse, rolling along the ground to lie in a crumpled heap. He shouted his triumph, and turned to tell Chris he had got her, he had got the bitch that destroyed their lives, but Chris wasn't behind him. He turned back to the body in front of him, and instead of Ella's white dress, he saw a black duster draped over the figure. He shouted and ran, to where Chris lay, bleeding from many bullet holes, his eyes open and unblinking.
Vin sat up, shivering and gasping for air.
"You all right?" he heard Chris ask, but couldn't see him.
"I reckon," Vin answered, wiping his face with his bandanna. "Ain't gonna be sleepin' no more though, so I'll watch." He stood, reaching for his rifle.
"No need. I ain't sleeping either." Chris emerged from the darkness. He looked pale and tired.
"You really should try to catch a few hours shut-eye," Vin said. He re-stoked the fire for coffee. Chris didn't answer, but reached for his own cup. He sat close to fire, sipping the hot drink.
"Vin?" he said softly.
"Yeah?"
Chris looked up at him. He shook his head. "Nothing," he replied.
Vin took a sip of his coffee. "Then let's get this over with," he answered. They doused the fire with coffee and set off again into the night.
The closer they got to Ella's ranch, the more anxious Chris got. Vin was silent beside him. Neither had said a word since they left the watering hole, but it was a silence Chris focused on. The silence had at first come so easily, but as they neared the ranch, cracks were starting to pierce the silent blanket, even though he tried to shut them out. Cracks like Fowler, the bastard who'd started the fire. Fowler had said he was hired to kill Chris, and that his employer was a man, but Ella had said something different. She said she hired Fowler to kill his family, so they could be together.
She had also said something else, in the letter she sent him: I cannot allow the jealous and the weak-of-heart to destroy the great love we share. He didn't know who she was referring to. Sarah and Adam, jealous and weak of heart? That didn't make sense. Maybe she meant the other peacekeepers, who tried to protect him even as he shoved them away. God, he even defended her to them. But Buck, JD, Josiah, jealous? That didn't make sense either. The only one he could think of that would be jealous was Vin, and he didn't want to even think about that. Vin was a friend, the closest he'd ever had, and was even still here beside him after Chris had told him to get lost. Chris knew it wasn't jealousy that had caused Vin's distrust of Ella, just good instincts.
He reined in suddenly, pressing a hand to his eyes. Silence, silence, silence. When he looked up again, Vin had also stopped and was looking at him wordlessly. Chris nodded at him and spurred his horse. Vin fell in beside him.
Vin saw the battle raging behind Chris's eyes. The calm, focused rage he'd had when they left town was fading, but hell if he knew why. To Vin, it was simple: find the bitch and put a bullet in her. Maybe that's what was eating Chris. He didn't want to shoot a woman, even if that woman had killed his family. Damn him and his dictating who you could shoot and how. You don't shoot nobody in the back. He'd said that to JD the first day they'd met. Hell, Vin had shot men in the back before, men who had less worth than cow piss. Chris ain't never had no one like Eli Joe come after him. Eli Joe was gonna shoot him in the back with a scoped rifle from a window. That's the type of yellow-bellied coward he was up against. Chris had Top Hat Bob, who smelled to high heaven but at least fought him face to face. Chris could afford not to shoot people in the back. He could be honorable when he killed people. Like when he killed Eli Joe. Real honorable, right through the heart, and destroyed Vin's only hope of being free.
The slow column of anger started up in his throat again, but he swallowed it.
That ain't fair, Tanner, he thought. You ain't never dealt with nothing like Ella Gaines. Crazy, mean, sneaky, and smart to boot. Blinded Chris to the truth. Reckon even mighty Chris Larabee can be fooled, especially when he wants to be fooled. Shit, must be all that honorable bullshit rubbing off on you. Maybe that's why you couldn't shoot her. You don't shoot nobody in the back, not even a crazy bitch that burned up a family. But that don't explain why you can't hit a can off a rock, or the side of a barn most likely. Fuck. Just find the bitch and shoot her. Point blank range if necessary.
They were still half a day's ride to Ella's place, but they'd get there by nightfall. Chris didn't know if he wanted to speed up or stop for the day, finish the trip in the morning. He left it up to Vin. Vin didn't even glance at him as he kicked his horse into a gallop.
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