I thought of this one while watching a Jimmy Stewart western this morning.
I do not own Heroes
High Noon Showdown
Part One
The town had been fairly quiet, that is, until Rafe Matheson arrived. He was a gunslinger, and a damn good one. Mostly, he wasn't too much trouble, and the sheriff would leave him alone. But lately, he was in a bad mood. In the saloon, he not only demanded whiskey without paying, he would harass the pleasure girls, who were usually generous with their talents, but Rafe refused to discuss money. None of them would put out for free. When he grabbed a younger one and started to drag her upstairs, the sheriff figured he'd better do something.
"Come on, Rafe. Leave the girl alone." He started to follow the pair, but Rafe pushed the struggling prostitute up ahead of him, and turned to face the elderly sheriff.
"Who's going to stop me, Dagget, you?" He laughed at his own words, finding the idea amusing at best. He looked down at everyone in the saloon. Not a one of them had the courage to fight him. They all knew he was fast with his pistol, and unmerciful to anyone who stood in his way. Rafe turned back to his object of desire, and continued up the stairs.
"Rafe! Stop there. I mean it. You've been causing the citizens of this town enough trouble this week. I think it's about time you left." The sheriff had his hand poised above his pistol, ready, in case he had to shoot. It was a thoughtless error in judgment. He felt the hot sting of a bullet as it entered his heart. Looking down, he saw the small red spot on his shirt, his life's blood spreading from the hole even as he fell to his knees. The last thing he saw before he died was Rafe's smiling face.
The saloon was silent. Everyone was paralyzed with fear, hoping to be invisible to the gunman. Rafe went on upstairs with the frightened girl in tow, pushing her into one of the vacant bedrooms, and locking the door behind them.
On the floor beneath, the saloon customers tried to act as if nothing had happened. The piano man played a tune, while more than one man ordered a drink to calm their nerves. Only one went over to the sheriff, checking for any signs of life.
"He dead, Doc?" one cowboy asked.
"'fraid so, John. He didn't have a chance." The town's doctor looked around. "Hey, you two want to help me get Dagget to my office?" He pointed to two men, who quickly responded to the doctor's request. More than like, they wanted an excuse to leave the saloon without looking cowardly.
...
He woke up with dirt in his mouth. Spitting, he rose up off the ground, and looked around. What was that smell? Horse? He brushed the dirt off his clothes before heading for the open door. What did he remember? Last thing was that Japanese guy, saying something about controlling time and space. He touched his shoulder and everything went black. That is, until he woke up...here. But where was here?
Once outside he looked onto a street bordered by wooden buildings. It reminded him of some Old West movie set. As a child, he had watched westerns on TV, but they weren't his cup of tea so to speak. And he had never ridden a horse. Living in the city rarely afforded such an opportunity as that.
What had that Asian guy done to him, he wondered. This was obviously not New York City. Or Los Angeles. Everything looked so rustic, and so real. This was not a movie set. The street was dirt, with horse manure everywhere. Puddles of water made for muddy patches that he had to step over to avoid messing up his shoes.
He noticed several men carrying a body across the street, and walked towards them. As he caught up with them, he asked, "What happened?"
The doctor looked up at the tall stranger as he opened the door to his office. "The town sheriff was shot," he replied, before ordering the men to take the body inside. "You new around here?" He looked the stranger up and down, noting his clothing and manner. He was definitely not from around here. There was something so out of place about him. "I'm Doc Wilson."
"Sylar," he responded. "Sylar...Gray. I'm from...the East coast actually. New York."
"You're a long way from home, Mr Gray. What brings you West?"
"I'm not sure, yet." He looked around at the clapboard buildings, the horses tied to wooden posts, and the general filth. He was a city man, and that is where he wanted to return. "Is there someplace to stay?"
"Sure. The hotel is down the street. Pretty cheap too. Four dollars a week including breakfast. Mrs Lawson makes a pretty good meal too. I think you'll find it a nice place." He hesitated a moment, before continuing. "Are you passing through, Mr Gray, or looking to stay? Will you be needing work?"
"I don't know if I'll be here that long, Dr Wilson. But maybe I'll try that hotel. Thanks." Sylar stepped off the walkway, and headed in the direction of the hotel.
Wilson watched him as he left. Who was this stranger? He wore odd clothing, and didn't seem to have a gun. Or a horse, since he hadn't asked about a livery stable. Maybe he came in on the stage. Wilson shook his head, and went inside to prepare Sheriff Dagget's body for burial.
When he reached the hotel, Sylar entered the small lobby area, and saw an older woman dusting a table. She turned when she heard him come in. "May I help you?" she asked Sylar.
"Um...Dr Wilson said you might have a room?" He glanced around warily, for what, he wasn't sure. He was in a strange place, and his senses had to be on constant alert.
"How long would you be staying, Mr..."
"Gray. Sylar Gray. Maybe a week for now. After that, I don't know." How was he going to get home anyway? If that Japanese guy didn't bring him back, he was pretty much stuck here.
"Well, I'm Mrs Lawson, Mr Gray. Come this way and you can register. It will be $4 for the week. Breakfast is every morning at 7am. If you're late, you don't eat."
Sylar smiled at the warning. "I understand, Mrs Lawson." She had no idea who she had under her roof. If she did, she wouldn't be giving him orders like that. But for now, he'd go along with the way things ran here.
"Top of the stairs, to the right, second door down. The facilities are at the end of the hall. I hope you'll be very comfortable here, Mr Gray." As she went back to her work, she thought that he was terribly handsome man and so tall. His clothing was a bit odd, and she wondered at him wearing only black. Once, she saw a gunfighter all dressed in black. But if Doc Wilson recommended him, he must be alright.
He held the key that she had handed him. "Thank you." Seeing that she was going back to her dusting, Sylar walked upstairs and found his room. It was decorated simply with a bed, a dresser and a wash basin on a wooden stand. Two towels hung on the stand. There was a picture on the wall, and that was all there was in the way of decorative appointments.
Sylar left the room, locking it behind him, although he couldn't imagine why, having no belongings. He found the bathroom, and used the "facilities", as Mrs Lawson had called it. He washed up, kicking himself for forgetting the towel. He brushed the water from his face, and shook his hands dry. Running his slightly damp fingers through his hair, he thought this place couldn't be too far from the 20th century, to have indoor plumbing. But it was nowhere near the time or place he had been taken from.
Sylar left the hotel in search of...what? Hearing noise from a building across the way, he went in that direction. He saw that it was a saloon, and figuring he would slake his growing thirst, he went on inside. Everyone stopped to look at him, as any strange face would draw attention in a small town where everyone was known. He ignored them, and walked up to the bar. "Do you have any bourbon?" he asked, figuring a request for tea would draw odd looks.
"Do you have any money?" the bartender asked in return, not trusting a stranger with credit.
Sylar fished in his pockets for some coins, before realizing his money would have dates on them that didn't even exist yet. How was he going to pay for anything with 21st century money? He concentrated a moment as he held the coins in his hand. When he pulled his hand from his pocket, he saw that they were now gold. He tossed one on the bar. "I have gold," he said.
The bartender greedily picked up the coin, and put it into his pocket without perusing it too closely. "That will buy you a whole bottle, Mister."
Never one to get drunk, Sylar shook his head. "A glass will do, thanks."
The bartender shrugged, pouring bourbon into a glass and handing it to the lunatic stranger. Maybe he was rich Easterner who would be a good customer so he said nothing more lest the man ask for his change.
Just then, a commotion came from upstairs. "I thought I told you to get the hell out of my room!"
Sylar turned to see a young girl rush downstairs. He noticed one of her eyes was bruised, and she had obviously been crying. She sat at a table, while he saw another girl get a wet cloth and tend to her friend, uttering reassurances to her. Sylar saw a man coming down the stairs, and watched him as he reached the bar, loudly demanding a drink. He didn't care for the man already. "Why don't you hold it down, buddy."
Rafe swung his head around to find himself staring at someone he'd not seen here before. He was tall, and didn't appear to be afraid of him, like so many of the townspeople were. "You were referring to me?" he asked haughtily.
Sylar didn't even look at Rafe as he responded, "I guess so. I don't see any other jackasses here."
Rafe grabbed Sylar's shoulder, forcing the stranger to face him. In the next moment, he found himself pressed against the wall, peering at the surprised faces of the saloon customers, who couldn't believe what they'd just seen. The man in black had waved his hand, and Rafe had gone flying until he hit the wall. Now he seemed stuck there.
Sylar let his antagonist loose, watching as he slid down the wall. No one went to his aid. Sylar then gulped down his drink, and left the saloon. He heard people whispering as he left. Smiling, he knew he could be running this town in no time. But first, he'd have to get rid of his very mortal competition.
A/N: This will only be a two shot or maybe a trilogy. I tried to write it as a one shot but it got too long. So I'm splitting it up.
I really need to stop coming up with new ideas, so I can finish my other stories. I beg any loyal readers for their patience.
Reviews accepted with gratitude.