The Midnight Men and Other Stories (9 page)

Just one man, but Wade could have been mistaken for thinking it was an army.

A train of shadows drifted in the bad man’s wake. Dozens of swirling, twisting shapes crowded behind him, all jostling and wailing in combined torment. Wade had no time to count them, but he estimated the number to be around thirty, maybe more.

The stranger approached the saloon, his dark eyes fixing on Wade’s own. He stopped and glanced round at the crowd.

“Quite a welcoming committee,” he said, spitting a mouthful of amber juice into the dirt.

“You’re not welcome here,” Wade said.

The stranger raised a hand to his ear. “Whawassat? You say something, little fella?”

Wade tensed, the insult striking directly at his already battered pride. But he fought the urge to retaliate. If the entourage of souls was anything to go by, this man was evil beyond his imagining. He had to maintain his composure.

“Perseverance is a peace-loving town,” he said, raising his voice for all to hear. “We don’t entertain the likes of you.”

The stranger took a step back. “The likes of me? Why, Sheriff, what do you take me for? A killer?” His gaze narrowed on the dark shape on Wade’s shoulder. “You sayin’ you’re better than the likes of me? Why, we seem to be afflicted with the same curse, wouldn’t you say?”

“No,” Wade said, “I am nothing like you.”

“Sheriff, I am just a simple man who has walked thirty long miles from Bridgetown. I’m passing through, is all. Let me take some food and water, maybe a little entertainment this fine evening, and I’ll be on my way by morning.”

“No,” Wade said, more forcefully this time.

The grin died on the stranger’s face. “My, my, Sheriff, you’re beginning to sound a mite unfriendly. What if I decide to stay anyway, without your permission? What you gonna do then?”

“Put you in a cell,” Wade replied.

“Not without killing me first, and the last sheriff tried that is standing right in back of me.” The stranger cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “Somewhere,” he added.

Wade could find nothing to say in response. He felt the situation slipping from his control.

“Now I suggest you stay out of my way and nobody will get hurt in this here peace-loving town. That’d be the sensible thing to do, Sheriff.”

The stranger stepped up onto the walk and brushed past Wade. The stench of the man filled his nostrils: sweat, piss, and worse. He felt paralysed by this dark presence, the overwhelming sight of so many souls filling him with an all-consuming dread. He was about to let the man pass without further argument, keep the peace, when he saw young Saul standing on the walk just a few feet away. The look of disillusionment on the boy’s face burned deep. He was the sheriff, wasn’t he? And this man had swept him aside like a fly.

He reached out and grabbed the stranger’s elbow, spinning him a half-turn until their faces were only inches apart.

“If you make any trouble,” he said in a level tone, “if you harm one person in my town . . .”

“What?” the stranger cut in. “What will you do, little sheriff?” The man’s eyes, up close, were red-rimmed and cloudy, cataracts blooming in both pupils. Behind their diseased sheen there was a black heart beating like a drum. “You gonna kill me, sheriff? Is that what you’ll do?”

It took all Wade’s strength just to hold the man’s gaze. Words escaped him.

“Don’t you know the laws of inheritance?” the stranger said in a harsh whisper. “I discovered a while back that those like you and me, those who’ve inherited souls, we have a little ‘problem’. See, I met an Injun on the crow roads near Salvage a while back. He was a big, fearsome buck - Sioux, I think, I can never tell. And I could see he had a trio of kills to his name, I counted each one. He saw me coming and musta fancied adding me to his tally. But I took him down first, because I’m quick like that. Mighty quick. Know what? Next morning, not only do I have Mister Lightfoot attached to my ever-loving hide, but the three souls he owned were tagging along for company, too.

“That’s how inheritance works, Sheriff. That’s what you got to look forward to if you decide to take me down. And I don’t think you’re the kind of man who can live with this much burden.” His eyes fell on the solitary shape at Wade’s side. “Looks to me like yer struggling with just the one.”

He patted Wade on his free shoulder, and with a braying laugh, disappeared through the batwing doors of the saloon.

Wade pivoted slowly on his heels, looked out into the sea of stunned faces. He felt delirious, blinded by panic. Everyone was staring at him, judging him . . .

Slowly, he pushed his way through the crowds, looking for somewhere to go, looking for a way out.

***

In the shadows of the sheriff’s office, Wade leaned against the bars of a cell, staring into the empty space. The cells were always empty, as if no one in Perseverance dared break the law for fear of spending a night with the haunted lawman.

No, he decided, the people of Perseverance were good folk. They respected the law, at least.

But this stranger . . .

Occasionally, Wade caught the sound of the man’s guttural laughter, carried through the town by the treacherous wind.

The stranger acted with absolute disregard for human life and the laws which govern it. No lawman was going to want to gun him down. And it was clear he would not let them take him alive. So where did that leave him as sheriff of this town? Sit here and pray the stranger didn’t do anything ‘too bad’ before passing on as promised to become someone other town’s problem? Watch the stranger closely in the hope that he would make himself so drunk he could be imprisoned whilst asleep? That’s a lot of hoping and praying there, Wade told himself. And where did that ever get him?

Wade rested his forehead against the cold bars of the cell. After a moment, he turned to face the spectre. He tried to focus on the face, to find the eyes of the spirit that had once been a Native American named Far Rider. But there was only shifting smoke.

“What the hell should I do?” Wade said aloud.

The spectre said nothing.

A gunshot pierced the night.

Then screams, angry shouts coming from the saloon.

Wade’s chest burned with sudden white-heat. He rushed out into the street.

Light spilled from the saloon doors onto the street. A crowd of people had gathered on the walk outside. A figure broke away from the main group and came running towards him, skirts swaying.

“Louise?”

“Jeremiah!” she cried. “Come quickly!”

She grabbed his arm and half-dragged him back to the group of people outside the saloon. In the centre of the group, Randy lay on his back, blood splattered across his shirt and neck. Thick rivulets of blood oozed from a large hole in his chest.

“What the hell happened?” Wade cried, eyes searching the crowd.

“It was him,” someone said. “That man!”

Other voices joined in, crying out in fear and fury.

Reverend Simmons pushed into the centre of the crowd, raising his hands in an appeal for calm. The shouts died down to a murmur.

“Jeremiah,” the Reverend said, “do you know who that man is?”

Wade shook his head.

“John Vallance.”

The name stung him like a blade between the ribs. John Vallance faced trial in Pennsylvania a few years back for the rape of nine young girls. He famously taunted the judge to hang him. This was before anyone had ever heard of ‘inheritance’. Vallance escaped from prison two days before his date with the gallows. No one had seen him since. Until now.

“He’s a monster, Jeremiah. You should have stopped him the moment he-”

“I know that,” Wade said.

Louise stepped forward, putting her hand on his arm. “Jeremiah, he’s upstairs right now and he’s got Misty, Hal Gordon’s daughter. God alone knows what he’s doing to her up there.”

Wade’s heart plunged. “Jesus,” he said.

“Some of the boys tried to get in,” Reverend Simmons added, “but he barricaded the door. He threatened to shoot the first man who broke through. As you can see, Randy went ahead anyway.”

Someone appeared with a gas lamp and placed it by Randy’s side. Wade crouched down to him. The light made deep hollows under Randy’s eyes. The friend he had loved so dearly was still there, still breathing. But only just.

“Jeremiah,” he said. “I tried. I tried to stop him, but . . .”

Wade gripped his friend’s shoulder. “I know, Randy. You did good.”

Fear flashed in Randy’s eyes. “Jeremiah,” he said. “If I die, don’t let me become one of his . . .”

Randy didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.

Wade stood up slowly. He knew he had to face the stranger, knew he should have done something the moment the bastard walked down the main street. Not so long ago he would have had no hesitation in bringing the man down with a killing shot, but that was the Jeremiah Wade of old, before the incident at the Parnell house. Now the burden he carried, and the threat of worse, had made him a coward.

“Hurry,” Louise said.

He saw the aura of pity in her face, the frown of deep concern.

“There’s no way out for you is there?” she said.

She reached up and kissed him then, the kiss forceful and clumsy. It shocked and thrilled him in equal measure. When she broke the embrace, tears glistened on her cheeks.

“You’re a good man, Jeremiah Wade,” she whispered. “I want you to know that I never stopped loving you. Never.”

Wade hesitated, wanting to say something, anything, but in the end he realised it was hopeless.

He backed away from her, out into the middle of the street. He stopped, eyes fixed on the shutters of the second storey saloon window where the screams of a young woman leaked out into the sultry night.

He still had no plan, no idea how to turn this situation to his advantage. But just as despair began to seep into his heart, the spectre moved closer, and Wade thought it spoke to him. It was less than a whisper, hardly even a breath, but Wade caught three words, his desperate mind snatching them from the air with greedy haste.

Two closed doors . . .

Confused, Wade turned and looked at the spectre.

“I - I don’t know what that means,” he whispered.

But the featureless shape offered nothing more.

The girl’s anguished screams filled the night.

“Vallance!”

The name echoed around the town like a thunderclap. All eyes turned to Wade, then to the upper floor of the saloon.

“Vallance!” Wade called again.

The girl stopped screaming. There was another loud curse and then the shutters flew open. The man stood in the window frame, looking down at the assembled townsfolk. He spat out into the street.

“So you know who I am,” he bellowed. “Clever boy. Now go on back to your schoolin’, little sheriff, and leave me to enjoy the evenin’s entertainment.”

“John Vallance,” Wade cut in. “I told you what would happen if you harmed one of my people.”

“Please let me go!” the girl screamed from the room behind him.

Vallance ignored her plea, his eyes trained on Wade. “Go on. Let’s hear it.”

“Come down here now. Face me man to man. Your gun against mine.”

Vallance shifted uneasily. “Now why would you want to do a stupid thing like that?”

“Because I’m the sheriff,” Wade said.

The smile dropped from Vallance’s face. “But you can’t win, little sheriff. Not against me. You know that.”

Wade stared back defiantly. “Outside,” he said.

The two men stared at each other. A cold, hard gleam appeared in Vallance’s eyes. He stepped back suddenly and closed the shutters.

The crowds around the doors of the saloon began to move away, muttering excitedly to themselves. Wade checked his pistols, just in case.

“Sheriff!”

A small figure in ragged clothes came running up to him. It was Saul. Wade was shocked to see the boy was holding a heavy rifle in his skinny arms.

“Damn it, Saul,” Wade hissed. “What are you doing with that?”

“Sir, I want to help.”

Wade shook his head. “No, Saul. Go home.”

“But listen, Sheriff. I can be your second gun. I’ll be up on the church roof, or somethin’. I’m a crack shot with a rifle, sir. And if he wins, he won’t walk out of this town alive, I promise. I’ll take him down for you.”

Wade’s expression darkened. “If you do that, everything that is chained to that man will become your burden. Do you understand that, Saul? Do you?”

Saul’s eyes grew wide. He bowed his head, his lower lip trembling with emotion.

“Sheriff,” he said, “I won’t let you become another one of his - his . . .”

Wade’s features softened. “I know, son. But there’s nothing you can do. Please . . . go.”

Saul took a step back. “You kill him, Sheriff!” he said. “You kill him good.”

Wade looked at the boy with a pained expression. If only it was that easy.

Two closed doors . . .

It came to him in a flash of inspiration, a Road to Damascus moment, one that both elated him and brought his heart crashing down. But it was too late to question it. It was too late for anything now.

The saloon doors flew open and the scrawny figure of John Vallance sauntered out. He was wearing only long johns, his holster slung low over his bony hips. He hadn’t even bothered getting dressed.

“Y’know,” Vallance said, “when I saw you earlier, I knew you were stupid, little sheriff. I saw that dumb-ox expression on your idiot face, and I really thought you’d give me no trouble. I was wrong. You must have a death wish.”

“Yeah,” Wade said. “Maybe I have.”

“Maybe you didn’t listen too good when I explained that part about inheritance.”

“Oh, I listened all right.”

“Then you understand you’ll be tagging along with my merry little band before sunrise?”

Wade shrugged. “Maybe I’ll win, Vallance.”

Vallance let out a high-pitched cackle. “That’s real funny, sheriff. I’m gonna enjoy having you in my entourage.” He looked over his shoulder. “Maybe you could stop these miserable folks from howling all night.”

The smile faded then, and a moment of understanding passed between the two men. Wade placed his hand over his holster. Vallance took a step back and did the same.