"A monster dwelled in the desert."
The priest looked at the congregation, his quiet yet passionate.
"Whispers, rumors, hushed comment of the creature that lay hidden out there, silent and passive. A beast…in the shape of a man…tamed by another man…taught to be docile.
"But it wasn't.
"Oh yes…it did not attack, it did not kill. But…it was not docile. It was waiting. Waiting for the day that someone foolish…someone stupid…provoked it. For only then…would it unleash its wrath.
"A monster…dwelled in the desert."
The priest eyes grew hazy, as he looked out, far into the past.
"And the founders of this town… provoked it."
&&&
Father Timothy Roselyn, founder of this town's only church, had been awaken once more from his warm bed to the cool desert night. Eyes still fuzzy with sleep, he was brought by the sheriff to main street.
His duty was simple…deliver the last rights to yet another soul.
Man before him was close to death. Much longer had been his suffering. Fingers and toes hacked out, the wounds cruelly sealed by glowing lead to prevent him from dying too soon. Castrated, this wound too sealed, but not before his assailant had ground rock salt into hole where once his genitals had been.
His tongue lay on the ground next to him, bloated and already gathering flies. Gaze had been shoved into his mouth, forcing him to breath through his broken nose, every sniff agony. Hot wax was drizzled over face, sealing his eyes shut and leaving him in a world of darkness. All of this did little to hide the bruises and blood that coated his body, leaving him a patchwork of agony.
"We found him…just like the other three."
Father Roselyn nodded, hand ghosting along the large man's forehead.
"How much time?"
The sheriff sighed, hands shaking slightly. He told the priest that the man before them had little time left…and hour, maybe two.
"But there is a chance then…longer then the others…"
The sheriff agreed, but told Father Roselyn that the reason they'd called for him was just to be safe…should tragedy strike.
And it did.
In the form of a bullet directly in the man's forehead, brain matter staining the hardpacked ground.
The priest look up, staring at the lone figure that held vigil upon the roof of the local bank, the spark of his cigar and the glow of his eyes letting them all know the man known in this town as The Horsemen of Death…had claimed yet another soul.
"Isaiah Ellis….you murderer!"
For seven weeks, Isaiah let the town rest in simpering ease. Let them mourn the loss of four of their own, something they had never given him. Never did they realize he was always watching them, always observing their every step, their every move. Wait…
Wait…
All but one finally felt a calm descend upon their heart, let their mind ignore the fear that had once gripped them so during the blood soaked point in time. All but one believed that perhaps…the Horsemen of Death had rode on.
All…but…one.
The small man…the coward.
For him…the seven weeks were little more then torture. He had known, the instant the first man had died, that it was by Isaiah's hand. It was he who told his master, the lord of this town, that the son of Father Ellis now hunted them.
The master had promised him protection, that Isaiah would be caught and dealt with.
But the small man's faith…had been pushed to thread bare, when it came to the master and promises.
And so, for seven weeks, the small man stewed in his own fear. It coated him, seeped into his skin and ate away at all that had once brought him joy. The money he was paid he could not rid himself fast enough, for each coin, each note would weigh him down all the more when he finally needed to run. His home was now a minefield, hidden dangers in each room…where could Isaiah be hiding? His nimble young wife, purchased by the master for his pleasure, now only served as a potential betrayer…one he could not send away for fear of pushing her into Isaiah's arms, nor keep should she have already been in his grasp.
For seven weeks, he lived in fear.
On that final Friday, he dared to finally hope that the Horsemen was gone.
Four hours later, he laid dead, body mutilated beyond recognition.
Isaiah calmly cleaned the blood from his hunting knife, placing the small man's tablecloth over his dead body. Picking up a glass of water, he said a soft prayer before gently sprinkling it over the body.
"As Father Roselyn is not here…may God forgive your sins. May your soul find the peace it deserves. So is the way of God."
He threw the glass at the body, listening to the broken glass beneath his boots as he lit up a cigar.
"But personally…tell Satan that Isaiah Ellis said hello."
"Why so much anger?" Called out Father Roselyn. Isaiah drew his guns, pointing them right at the holy man. "That is not the way of the Lord…the way of your father."
"My father is dead." Was Isaiah's response. "What he cared about is little concern. Seeing that he is avenged…that is all I care about."
Father Roselyn was not swayed, however. He could not let this killer go free, escape into the night. His only hope was to convince him to stop, to give in.
"Did not Jesus forgive those that crucified him? Did he not understand they knew not what they did? He forgave them, Isaiah, as we all should those who hurt us, as they do not know better."
Isaiah seemed moved, for a moment. He removed the cigar from his mouth, turning his attention fully on the priest.
"Did not God kill the first born of Egypt when Rames ordered the death of the Hebrew first born? Did God not send fire and brimstone down upon Sodom and Gomorra? Who should we listen too, preacher…the Father…or the Son?"
"A paradox, my son…for if we listen to the Son, then we listen to both you and Christ."
"I do not claim to be even near them, preacher. I am merely a man."
"Others disagree…or have you not heard your title…the Horsemen of Death, rider of the Apocalypse? Last of the beings held by the fourth seal?"
"A title I never gave myself…though I ask, if I am Death, where are Disease, War, and Famine? Where are my brothers?" Isaiah scoffed at this notion. "If I am Death…I would be more concerned with the 3 next seals…and the Seven Horns."
Father Roselyn knew he was losing him, that Isaiah would soon leave. The sheriff would be here soon with the deputies…ready to bring him in…he needed to stall.
"What now, Isaiah? You've taken your revenge…"
"no." Isaiah answered. "No…this man's master still lives…only when he is dead will I rest."
"You will never kill him."
"And why is that?'
"Because the master of this town is Robert Bishop…the wealthiest man here…"
"And his wealth matters to me?"
"No Isaiah…you will not kill him…because he is your father…your birth father."
There were a million things Father Roselyn expected…the last was for Isaiah to leap out the picture window, where his horse was waiting. In the distance, the sheriff and the posse could be heard, but they were to be too late.
Isaiah would escape.
But not without parting words.
"All the more reason to kill him then."
