LEAVING RIMFIRE

An Alternate Ending to "Days of Wrath."

Disclaimer: Jarrod, Nick and Heath Barkley and all of the characters and situations in The Big Valley are the property of their copyright holders and are, sadly, not mine. I'm only borrowing them.

Part One

Jarrod forced Cass Hyatt's head under the murky water, his face expressionless, perfectly still, his eyes seeing nothing but a fresh grave. He locked his arms, straight and unyielding, feeling nothing as Hyatt thrashed and kicked in his grasp, waiting as the smaller man's struggles weakened.

Still he waited.

A few seconds more, and it would be done. It would be done, and then—

Out of nowhere, someone dragged him backward, throwing him aside into the arms of someone else. That someone else was Nick. It was Nick who shoved him away. And Hyatt was huddled at Heath's feet on the edge of the boardwalk, gasping and dripping, alive. Alive.

Jarrod's vision reddened with rage, and he drew his gun. "Get away from him!"

Nick stood unmoving between him and Hyatt, between him and his right. His need.

"Get away from him!"

"You're gonna have to shoot through me to get to him, Jarrod."

Jarrod stood there, his eyes locked on his brother's. He heard the crack of a shot. Then there was another explosion, and everything went black.

OOOOO

Jarrod didn't try to open his eyes. If he did, he was sure the top of his head would come off. Sick. So sick. He'd be sicker, he knew, if he had to look into the light.

Voices. Voices he didn't know. Voices maybe he knew. Sick. So sick.

"The doc said he took one in the shoulder and another in the gut," one of them said.

"Yeah. What did you tell Jarrod?"

"I haven't told him anything. He hasn't been awake since it happened."

"You hit him pretty hard. Is he hurt?"

"I don't think so. Headache maybe, but that's the least of his troubles. I wasn't trying to do anything but keep him from hurting anybody else."

"I need to see him."

Jarrod thought the first voice was vaguely familiar. The second one he knew. Heath. What was Heath doing here?

"Be careful," the first voice said. "I don't know what he was like before all this, but I wouldn't get too close now, no more than I would to a rabid wolf."

"Hyatt killed his wife. They'd been married six days."

"That's rough. He just made it rougher."

Jarrod finally placed the first voice. The sheriff. Well, Jarrod had known what he was doing, and he'd done just what he'd set out to do. He'd chosen this. He wanted it. Wanted it as much as he had wanted Beth. There was nothing left for him now that she was gone. He was dead already. A rope would only make everyone else face up to the fact.

He heard a door open, footsteps coming close.

"Jarrod?"

He didn't speak. He didn't open his eyes.

"Jarrod."

"Go away, Heath." His voice sounded as dead as he felt. "There's nothing you can do here now. Go away."

"Do you realize what you've done?" There was deep pain in Heath's soft voice.

"What I meant to do. Go home, Heath. It's over."

"I don't believe that, Jarrod. You can't have meant to."

Jarrod shoved himself into a sitting position, reeling from the sudden explosion of pain inside his skull. He finally managed to make the cell stop spinning long enough to glare at his youngest brother through narrowed eyes.

"I meant to, Heath," he growled. "I meant to do exactly what I did."

"Jarrod, do you even remember what happened?"

Jarrod stared at him. Maybe he didn't remember everything. Somebody, the sheriff, had tried to knock his head off afterward. He swayed to his feet.

Heath reached through the bars as if he wanted to steady him, but he quickly dropped his hands. "Nick and I rode up when you were trying to drown Hyatt."

Hyatt had struggled, but every bit of the hate and rage that had surged through Jarrod since Beth's death had made him strong and relentless. Hyatt hadn't stood a chance.

"Do you remember us dragging you off him?" Heath asked as Jarrod grasped the bars in front of him. "You pulled your gun."

"You're gonna have to shoot through me to get to him, Jarrod."

"I remember." Jarrod's voice was cold. Matter of fact. He remembered. He remembered two shots before everything went black. "And I shot Hyatt."

Heath shook his head. "Hyatt's not hurt. The sheriff's got him locked up in the other cell."

Jarrod glanced at the solid wall that divided the two spaces. For the first time since he'd left home he didn't know how many days ago, he felt a flicker of uncertainty. "The sheriff said he was shot. In the shoulder and in the gut."

"Not Hyatt, Jarrod. Nick."

"Nick?" Jarrod hadn't thought he could grip those bars any tighter, but he did.

"The one in the shoulder, it's all right. It went through. The doctor says it didn't break anything. But the other— the other—" Heath drew a hard breath. "Doc says Nick might not make it. He needs to get the bullet out, but he's not sure Nick's strong enough."

"Hyatt shot him?"

Jarrod fought to remember. The sheriff had shoved Hyatt out into the street. He'd had a gun. Didn't have a gun.

"He threw his gun into the street," Jarrod said, suddenly remembering how the coward had pled for protection, remembering him confessing to Beth's murder, remembering the fury that had boiled up inside himself then. "I'll kill you with my bare hands."

"Jarrod—"

"Hyatt didn't have a gun." Jarrod's hold on the cell bars tightened even more, tightened until he thought his hands would break. "He didn't have a gun. How'd he shoot Nick?"

"Jarrod," Heath said, his voice as full of pity and pain and bewilderment as it was full of anger. "Jarrod, you shot Nick."

"No," Jarrod breathed, shaking his head, stirring up the stabbing lights behind his eyes. "No."

"You're gonna have to shoot through me to get to him, Jarrod."

"The sheriff hit you with his gun butt, trying to stop you."

The back of Jarrod's head throbbed.

"I couldn't come see you till now," Heath said. "I had to see Nick was looked after."

"You're gonna have to shoot through me."

"Heath—"

"Was the hate so important, Jarrod?" Health's white lips trembled. "So much more important than everything you love?"

Jarrod remembered Nick standing there between him and Hyatt, grave and steady. Unmoving. There had been no sympathy in the hazel eyes. No pleading. Only quiet determination.

"You're gonna have to shoot through me."

And Jarrod had shot. He could see it now as if it were lit by a photographer's flash powder, the image that had been the last before the darkness took him, Nick's astonished expression as he crumpled to the ground.

"Was the hate so much more important than everything you love?"

Still clinging to the bars, Jarrod sank to his knees, his head dropping to his chest and pounding like an approaching freight train. Heath was still talking, but Jarrod could only hear Nick's low growl.

"You're gonna have to shoot through me. You're gonna have to shoot through me. Shoot through me. Shoot through me. Shoot through me."

Heath was trying to pry his fingers off the bars above him, but Jarrod held on, held on knowing he would shatter into pieces if he let go.

"Jarrod. Jarrod!" Heath shook him, pulling at his wrists, pushing his shoulders. "Jarrod!"

Jarrod curled in on himself, his grip so tight he was sure either the bars would break or he would. Was the hate so important? He'd left Mother brokenhearted, he knew. He could tell Heath was grieving, hurting, too. And Nick—

A face full of cold water made him fall back, gasping, to the cell's dirt floor.

"Go on in," the sheriff said, and the key clanked in the lock. "If you're sure you want to."

Then Heath was at his side, helping him stand, guiding him to the bunk.

"Jarrod, don't—"

"Don't touch me!" Jarrod shoved him away, his back to the corner, water dripping from his hair and down his face. "Get out of here and don't come back!"

"Jarrod—"

"Get out!"

"Come on." The sheriff took hold of Heath's arm and pulled him through the door. Then he locked it behind him. "Maybe later you can try again."

"Don't come back!" Jarrod glared at his youngest brother. "Get out of here, Heath, before I kill you!"

Heath pressed his lips together, and with a little nod, he walked away. Giving his prisoner a wary look, the sheriff followed him out.

Jarrod slumped against the corner of his cell once they were gone, suddenly too weak to stand.

"Before I kill you," he murmured. "Before I kill you, too."

Author's Note: Days of Wrath has always been one of my very favorite episodes, and Vol lady's exquisite Loving Beth (go read it! go now!) has made me wonder what would have happened if, in his all-consuming rage, Jarrod had actually shot Nick instead of backing down at the end.