Doc didn't let Bart get up for the rest of the afternoon, not wanting to risk another dizzy-spell-pass-out. Bart submitted, as the lightheaded feeling never really left. He wondered if the jolt from being grabbed and thrown had ruined some of the healing that had taken place.
"Maybe I should fetch the doctor," Doc said, as he watched Bart rub his forehead.
"No," Bart said, eyes closed. "I'm all right."
"How can you be all right if you've been dizzy for—" Doc took out his pocket watch and looked at the time. "—almost four hours?"
"I'm not dizzy, I'm lightheaded," Bart told him.
"Well if you're lightheaded while lying down, what'll happen if you get up?" Doc asked.
"I'm not getting up," Bart said.
"I know that, I mean what would happen if you did?" Doc asked.
"Nothing will happen because I won't," said Bart.
"I know that," Doc repeated. "My point is that if you've been like this for so long, then—oh, forget it."
Bart said nothing.
Doc tried again. "What I'm trying to say is that you're not all right. You've had a setback."
"I'll be fine," Bart told him, wishing that Doc would stop talking so he could quietly rest.
Doc sighed. Suddenly, he said, "Oh no."
"What?"
"If you fall asleep, this better not make you wake up having forgotten everything again!" Doc exclaimed.
Bart sighed. "You worry too much."
Doc lit a cigar and took a puff. "Me? Worry? Nope! I'm just…concerned."
Bart huffed in disbelief. "You worry."
Doc took another puff. "Well, can you blame me after what's gone on all week?"
Bart opened his eyes and sighed. "Not at all."
Doc suddenly looked at his cigar and then back at his friend. "Bart," he said. "You wanna try one of these?" he asked, realizing that Bart hadn't smoked a single one since his injury.
Bart looked at him. "A cigar? Why would I want to do that?"
Doc looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, how you have changed!" he said. "You smoke cigars, Bart, just like every man does."
Bart frowned. "Is now really the time?"
Doc nodded, taking one out of his pocket and handing it to him. "These things are good for calming the nerves and stuff," he said. "Who knows, it might help your headache."
Bart took it and looked it over. "Or make it worse."
"Or bring back your memory!" said Doc, which was the main reason he'd suggested it.
Bart plopped his arm back down to the bed and put his other hand over his eyes. "Are you serious? You're that desperate that you think a cigar might bring my memory back?"
"Aren't you that desperate?" Doc asked.
Bart had no answer to that.
"Come on," said Doc. "Sit up. Give it a try, just to see. I'm not trying to give you a new vice, I just wanna see if it helps."
Bart lowered his hand and slowly tried to sit up. What harm could it really do? He'd just try it and get it over with. Though he doubted that it would help his headache, he really hoped that it would trigger a memory and everything would come back to him.
Doc stood and reached out to help him, standing the pillows up behind his back.
The change in position made Bart dizzier, but he didn't show it, sticking the cigar in his mouth instead.
Doc took a match out of his pocket and struck it on the nightstand before leaning over to light it for him.
Bart took a puff, and instantly choked.
Doc didn't expect that, and pulled Bart away from the pillows to slap his back.
Bart's head was swimming from the coughing, and the smoke hadn't agreed with his stomach. He tried to take a deep breath, but didn't really succeed.
"Sorry, Bart," said Doc. "I didn't expect that to happen."
"Neither...did...I," Bart answered in between the coughs.
Doc leaned him back against the pillows, and went to take the cigar out of Bart's hand. "It's been a week since you smoked one…I guess your body isn't used to it anymore."
Bart let him take it as he finally managed to take a deep breath. "I think I'll deal with cigars after I get my memory back," he said, a little hoarsely.
Doc nodded. "Sorry," he said again, with a sigh.
"It's all right," Bart told him, as he closed his eyes against the throbbing in his head caused by both the coughing and the smoke. "It was worth a try." His breathing hitched and he coughed again. "I think."
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Doc got up and went over to it. "Who is it?" he asked.
"The sheriff," they heard.
Doc made a face. "The real sheriff?" he asked.
There was a pause, before they heard, "Do you know any fake ones?"
"Well, actually…" said Doc. He made sure the door was locked before saying, "I need proof that you're who you say you are before I open this door."
Suddenly, they heard a scraping sound, and Doc looked at the floor to see that the sheriff had pushed his badge under the door.
"Is that proof enough for you?" they heard.
Doc bent down and picked it up. It seemed real enough. "How do I know this isn't fake? Or stolen?"
"Holliday, open this door right now!"
Doc looked at Bart. "What do you think?"
Bart's eyes were closed, his hand on his forehead. "Don't you recognize his voice?"
Doc looked back at the door. "Sheriff…one more test; say, 'get outta town, you varmint'."
"Holliday, so help me, you literally have three seconds to open this door or I'll—!"
"Yep, that's him," said Doc. With that, he opened the door just enough to peek out to make sure, before opening it all the way. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Well, come on in, you can't stand in the hall all day!"
The sheriff glared daggers at him as he walked in, and he snatched his badge out of Doc's hand and reattached it to his vest as he approached the bed and sat in Doc's chair. "How are you feeling?" he asked Bart.
Bart sighed. Before he could open his mouth, Doc answered for him.
"Bart was attacked a few hours ago," he said.
"I know," the sheriff said. "There was a witness."
At that, Bart opened his eyes.
"A witness?" Doc said, going around the bed and sitting on it so he could see Bart and the sheriff. "Who?"
"A young man named Billy," the sheriff said. "He told me what he saw and I've had my deputies scouring the town. We haven't come up with anything yet."
"What did he tell you?" Doc asked.
"He saw two men; one of them grabbed Bart, pulled him into an alley, and threw him to the ground. The man took out a gun, but the other one stopped him and they both ran off."
"And the boy doesn't know who they are?"
"He was unable to see their faces," the sheriff told them.
Doc sighed. "Figures. I'd like to speak to him. Can you send him up here?"
The sheriff nodded and stood. "I hope you feel better soon, Bart. You shouldn't go anywhere alone."
Bart sighed. "Yeah, I learned from my mistake."
"Good," said the sheriff. "If I find out anything, I'll let you know."
"Thanks," said Doc. He followed the sheriff to the door and locked it behind him before going back to the bed. "A witness!" he said. "Now we might finally get somewhere!"
"How?" said Bart. "The boy didn't see their faces. They probably rode out of town and no one will ever see them again."
"Good," Doc said. "That means that we don't have to worry about them anymore."
They were silent for a minute, before they both thought of the same thing.
"But why did they try to kill you—twice?" asked Doc.
"And why did one of them stop the other from shooting me today?" Bart asked back.
Neither of them had an answer.
TBC
