THE WILD, WILD WEST
"The Night of the Silent Rain"
by the lurker

The crack of the thunder shook the room, jolting him from a twilight sleep. He bolted upright, pulling in a sharp breath of air. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face. It took a long moment to shake off the agitation. He looked at the clock on his dresser: 4:45am. Damn. He was still a long way from catching up on the rest he needed.

He pulled back the covers, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sliding his feet into a pair of slippers. He stood slowly, trying to shake the last of the slumber from his mind. He realized he had a dull headache, the kind that would build into a blockbuster in a few hours. Coffee. He needed some coffee.

He trudged into the kitchen and pulled out the coffee pot; but a second later, changed his mind. It was not a morning for regular coffee, but rather one for the type he had learned to make in Vienna. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Vienna. He hadn't thought of that in many years.

The small pot clanked as he pulled it out from the rack overhead. He set it on top of the wood burning stove, and bent down to light the fire below. He poured milk from a bottle he grabbed out of the icebox and reached for the paper bag filled with ground Arbuckles. Opening the sack, he inhaled the scent of the rich aroma; it was loaded with hickory, earth, and a faint hint of peppermint.

Small bubbles had begun to rise on the surface of the milk. He measured three tablespoons of coffee and dropped them into it, stirring until the grounds were completely mixed with the white liquid, turning it a mocha color. He quietly poured some sugar into it, stirred again, and removed the pot from the heat. The steamy aroma took him to the tiny cafes on the side streets of Vienna. In some ways, he wished he was there; but then, that would just be another detour of avoidance, and he knew it. He strained the coffee mixture through a cheesecloth and into a cup, stirring it slightly to keep the foam from coagulating on the top.

A streak of lightening radiated through the interior of the train, casting an eerie glow across the galley, and quickly flashing into non-existence. He shuffled into the main car, and sat down on the couch. His head had begun to pound mercilessly, and he realized that the tension he was holding in his upper back was probably the culprit. Yet, there was no cause for such a state. His life had returned to normal; everything was status quo. He rolled his neck from side to side in an attempt to loosen the muscles, but it didn't help. He took a sip of his coffee; the taste was as he remembered it, bringing a smile to his lips.

He glanced out the window as another clap of thunder rolled through the train. It was a wonder that his partner could sleep through such a loud noise; but then, Jim could sleep through almost anything when he wasn't working. Artie on the other hand, had always been the overly light sleeper. A sudden flash of an early memory pressed itself into his mind. He was maybe four or five and had awakened from a bad dream. Terrified from the vivid images of his imagination, he had run for the comfort of his mother's arms. Instead, he found only his father, who berated him for showing his fear.

"You're too softhearted, Artemus. Men do not readily display their emotions. It's not natural."

Artie had trundled back to bed and cried himself to sleep. It was an insight into his father's way of thinking that had made a lasting impression on the young man. He resolved that if he ever had a child, he would be demonstrative and loving, not insensitive and cold.

A deep sadness welled up within him. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the feeling of emptiness that suddenly overwhelmed him. The sensation was familiar, painful, and centered deep down in his belly. Lily. He still missed her more than his conscious mind could comprehend. Somewhere in his heart, he knew that when he lost the love of his life, his chance at fatherhood had gone with it.

Artie stared into the depths of his coffee cup. He never thought that the pain of returning to familiarity would last forever; but now he feared that it might. Everything he had run away from was still lurking in every crevice of his being as an agent, and even though he stuffed it down on a daily basis, he felt as if he might drown in despair.

Perhaps his father had it right after all; he was too emotional. Even Jim had commented on it time and again. A smile tugged at Artie's mouth: in some small way, he knew his partner resented him for his demonstrative behavior in the same way that his father had. And on some level, it hurt to realize that his best friend couldn't understand what drove him from the core of his being. But then, it was their differences that had bonded them in a unique and special rapport. There would never be another friend like Jim, and it was that very loyalty which had given Artie the strength to come back with West, and face the hurt that would be with him for a very long time.

The silence of the train car was broken with another loud thunder crack, followed by several streaks of lightening. Artie set his coffee cup down on the table and slowly stood up, stretching out his aching muscles. He squeezed the back of his neck in a vain attempt to release the tension that was throbbing up into his head. Another round of thunder shook the car, followed with glowing bolts of lightening. His eyes misting over with emotion, he walked to the window and looked out.

And momentarily, it began to rain.

The End