CHAPTER 8 - TIME FOR A CHANGE (revised)

In the thin hours of morning John Holliday was awake, not that he wanted to be. More than ever he wanted the peace he found in his dreams. He yearned for sleep; the release of his soul into total darkness, and as always he was denied. Heaven had still not heard his cry.

At the age of thirty he carried the bitterness of life that under normal circumstances would be found in the elderly. And why should he not carry it? He would never see eighty, nor would he see forty, and if God were willing he would never see thirty-five. Escape is what he needed most, what he craved like a junky looking for the next high. He wanted to flee this reality so that he could glimpse his next life, which existed only in his dreams.

Rolling onto his right side, he came face-to-face with the woman who shared his bed. Kate was fast asleep, her moist mouth was parted slightly, one hand curled and tucked under her chin. Peace and serenity were etched into her face, and for one solid moment he hated her. Hate was a sensation he knew well. Almost every hour of his morbid existence he could feel it burning painfully within his chest. It was an affliction that outshone the day-to-day torment of his quickly decaying lungs.

Kate's peaceful rest was ironic for he had indirectly given her the thing he sought. She had no worries, no tribulations to distract her from finding joy in life. In fact, she had everything she could want: shelter, food, clothing, money to spend and he had given her all of it. She even had her health. Yes, Kate slept in the arms of peace, while he tossed and turned most nights wishing she would just once wake and offer him some words of comfort.

Doc turned away from her and swallowed hard the taste of bile in his mouth. He fought and overcame the irrational urge to rise from his bed, grab his nickel-plated revolver and shoot his lover in the face.

Quietly, he rose from the bed and suppressed a shutter when his bare feet touched the cold-wooden floor. It was only September, yet the early morning air was foreshadowing the coldness of the coming winter. Donning his silk robe, he made his way to room's only upholstered chair and eased his thin frame down into the worn fabric, stretching his long legs over the matching ottoman. Reaching for his tin of tobacco, he rolled a smoke and prepared to wait for the sun to rise.

Since coming to Tombstone, he had often spent many hours in repose waiting for many things: the sun to shine, Kate to wake up and ask about going to breakfast, or for Wyatt to come calling, but mostly he waited for the pain in his lungs to subside. And while he waited he would smoke and think. He supposed it was during such times his best ideas and insight into life's mysteries would float through his consciousness; glimpses of other people's problems he considered far inferior to his own. Wyatt had commented many times about his wisdom, but Doc never felt any smarter then the Earps or for that matter anyone else. He just thought about life more then other people. Perhaps because he was ill and slowly dying he sought to find some meaning in life and in finding it he hoped it would ease the turbulence in his soul.

A sound to his right stirred him from his thoughts. Kate had rolled over in her sleep. The covers of the bed had slipped down her shoulder exposing one ample breast to the cold morning air, and now her nipple was erect as if begging for his attention, yet he felt no desire move him. Passion that had carried him along in this relationship was gone. He realized he was sorry to see it go, but knew it would never return. Their argument last night only strengthened his resolve. It was time for an ending, and knowing Kate's temper it was sure to be a bad one.

Almost spitefully, Doc inhaled deeply on his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke in the direction of the bed, creating a hazy picture of the sleeping woman within. His vision blurred and suddenly Kate's auburn hair turned into golden tresses. For just one moment his soul leaped for joy and his hands began to tremble. A small shake of his head cleared the mirage. He had not been thinking about Alexis, which made the sudden illusion all the more disturbing. His subconscious was betraying him, stirring up the sediment of a long ago dream he had obliterated as a youth. Any likelihood of hearth and home shared with a good woman crashed and burned when he walked away from his place of birth. Still, he found the idea pleasantly amusing and definitely worth dreaming about. If it were Alex instead of Kate in his bed, would he be sitting here blowing smoke in the cold morning air? His sudden erection gave him the answer. His imagination would get the best of him if he didn't check it, yet he couldn't seem to stop his hand from reaching under his robe to slowly caress the ache between his legs.

Alexis's sudden arrival in town had caused quite the stir. In the short period that she had been cooking the evening meal at the Oriental business had doubled. Doc had no doubt most of it was due to her fine culinary stills, but there was also a percentage of business from the men in town who came to stare at and try to capture the attention of the pretty blonde. Wyatt and Milt were constantly fending off questions and multiple offers to procure her personal and private attentions. Wisely, Wyatt had suppressed all inquires. If his little cook ever found out about them Doc had no doubt she would be greatly offended. Alexis was not the kind of women a man whored with; she was the kind of woman a man would marry. How he knew this he couldn't say; it was just something he felt to be true. She seemed to stand out from her surroundings, as if none of the dirt and ugliness of the town residents could affect her. Everyone seemed equal in her eyes, speaking kindly to each person with the same soft, respectful tone, whether it was the mayor of the town or a lonely dirty miner.

Doc had no doubt her conduct was a reflection of her education and proper upbringing. Having been raised in the east, he knew education and etiquette went hand-in-hand. Why, in Georgia every respectable Christian family instilled good values in their children, but here in the West things were still raw and untamed.

When he had first arrived to this feral territory he had been exhilarated by the resident's unruly nature and the rowdy environment they populated. He had still been a young man then, and the experience of an uncultured populace was overwhelming. But as he aged to manhood, and as his illness progressed, he found he missed the values of a sophisticated society.

Alexis's habit of addressing every customer in a respectable and civilized manner made him homesick for the gentle Southern manners of his beloved Georgia. He became eager to see her each night and while he played poker or worked the faro table he would strain to listen in on her conversations with patrons in the saloon. He sensed there was something pure and noble about her, almost as if she had a higher purpose. Wyatt must have noticed too because he practically strangled Behan, the County Sheriff, when he blatantly asked the cost of the Earp's new whore. Doc had thought to do more then just strangle the man, but Kate had been at his side that evening and when she flashed her eyes at him and clutched his arm in warning, he knew she was watching to see if he would jump to defend Alexis's honor. He spent the rest of the evening in a silent rage. Angry over Kate's jealousy and resentful that Wyatt was free to defend Alex when he was not. It was at that moment when he realized his relationship with Kate had run the course. It was time for some changes in his life, be they good or bad.

Shit, my luck couldn't get much worse, he thought bitterly. He had never asked for much, had never tried to reach beyond what his hand could comfortably grasp. The real question was how much to reach for when disappointment and grief were the two main staples in his life. He felt each occurrence to the fullest; every sharp blow to the knuckles left his soul a little more shriveled than the year before. Ironic that he should end one relationship while driven by such a small spark of hope for a better one. And that is exactly what Alexis represented – hope. A fool's dream perhaps, but he seemed unable to stop himself from picking up the jolly scepter as he prepared to dance for the queen of hearts once again. Logically, he knew it was just a matter of time before his little cook rejected his advances thus breaking his heart in the process. She would return to her world in California and he would be left alone to slowly die while struggling to understand the dark maniacal fate that had always governed his life.

"You're a damn fool, John Holliday." He mumbled while snubbing out his smoke. Rising from his chair, Doc grabbed his shaving bag and towel, and walked to the bath down the hall. He still had an erection, and once in the bathroom he brought himself to completion. Then he washed and shaved. His intent was to be fully dressed to do battle with Kate when she woke up. The five hundred dollars he won in a poker game last night would be her final payment and send-off on the noon stage.


"Alex, you have a visitor."

Late morning at the Oriental, Wyatt and Virgil had been quietly going over their earnings for the past two weeks. When Wyatt first saw the guise of the man walking through the saloon doors it took him by surprise before realizing he was probably here to see Alex. Without thinking he called out to her, only comprehending his mistake when he saw Alex's gleeful face as she ran through the kitchen door and out to dinning area of the saloon.

"Ah, hell… Alex I'm sorry, I didn't think."

Looking around the half-empty saloon, Alex was confused for a moment until she saw the solemnly dressed figure standing behind Wyatt. "Oh, I thought…"

"I'm sorry, my child," Father Patrick Martin declared as he stepped out from behind lawman; his hands gently folded across the waist of his monk's robes. "I fear my visit is not what you expected."

"Father Martin, how nice." Alex swallowed hard, quickly reined in her disappointment and did her best to greet her new friend graciously.

Her quick recovery did nothing to sooth the priest's conscience, knowing how frustrated she must be feeling inside. The fact that she still battled evil alone but was so sure her friend would shortly be arriving to help her was a tremendous source of stress for him. He worried for her safety and it was that nervous energy which drove him to the Oriental to check up on her. "Ah, the manners and poise of a queen." The priest teased. "Still, I am sorry to have disappointed you. Obviously, your "family" has not arrived yet."

The ease in which he used the coded word for Angel made her smile. "No, not yet Father, but I have hope they will be here soon."

Seizing the moment, Wyatt asked, "So, you have no idea when they will be arriving, Alex?" Over the past several days he had wanted to inquire about her family but was hesitant to press her on the issue. The effort he and his brothers had made to unravel the mystery surrounding her sudden arrival in town led them in only one direction – Alex was a runaway, most likely from an abusive husband.

"Nothing definite but they did wire me some money. Don't worry, Wyatt, you won't be burdened with me forever." Alex teased while inwardly wincing at the lies that flew so easily from her lips.

"We don't consider you a burden, Alex." Virgil quickly added before the priest got the wrong idea. "It's just that… we worry about you being here alone that's all."

"But I'm not alone. I have you, Wyatt, Morgan, Milt and Doc looking out for me. I also have my very own guardian angel." She stretched her hand out and rested it on Father Martin's arm. "I am in the best of company."

"Well, my visit is not entirely without purpose." The priest confessed. "I've come to check up on you and to see how our good law officers are treating you."

Alex smiled fondly at Wyatt before she winked at the priest and said, "Oh, its not so bad, Father Martin. They only beat me twice a day. Their kindness is more then I expected, really."

She heard Wyatt and Virgil chuckle as she linked her hand under the priest's elbow and began to walk with him towards the kitchen. "If you come this way I'll show you where they lock me up at night."

"Thanks a lot, Alex." Wyatt called to her departing form.

After she poured two cups of tea, Father Martin finally revealed the true reason for his surprise visit. "I didn't mean to alarm you Alex by coming here but I wanted to let you know Mr. Ringo has left the confines of the church." He kept his voice low, almost at a whisper so that the Earp brothers would not over hear the true purpose of his visit.

"I know," Alex nodded while mimicking the priest's tone. "He was here last night, Father, and very nearly caused a gunfight with Doc Holliday when my over protective gambler walked into my kitchen unannounced. Before he left Ringo mentioned he was going to leave town in the morning."

Father Patrick Martin looked concerned as he took another sip of his tea. "Well, now I am worried. I have not seen Mr. Ringo since late yesterday afternoon. He never came back to the church last night, Alex. Exactly what time did he visit you?"

"It was late, after I had finished serving dinner. It must have been close to eight o'clock."

"If he left town, he left without his possessions, as meager as they were."

"Bugger! This is definitely not good news." A burst of anxiety brought Alex to her feet as she considered all the implications of Ringo's disappearance. Pacing to the back door she paused to look out, as if she could spot the outlaw lingering outside of kitchen door. Finding the alley hauntingly empty, she turned away and back toward the priest sitting at her table. "I hope nothing has happened to him. Where do you suppose he might have gone?"

"Do not worry he still carries the cross you gave him."

Wincing, Alex pulled the rosary from the pocket of her dress and held it up for the priest to see.

"Oh dear." Father Martin exclaimed and quickly crossed himself.

With a huff of anxiety she flopped down into her chair. "There was nothing I could do. The fool insisted on giving it back. I tried to get him to change his mind but…." She looked at the priest helplessly.

"Perhaps he is well and fine. We must have faith. I will go back to the church and see if he doesn't return." He stood to take his leave. "Is there anything you require of me Alex? Is there anything else I can do to help?" His hand reached for hers, noting the small delicate bones in her fingers and the chapped skin from the long hours in the kitchen. Not for the first time he wondered how all this would end. How many souls would be lost before the evil was destroyed?

Alex leaned in and kissed the back of his hand in a sign of respect. "Pray for all of us Patrick. Pray hard and very, very loudly."

Smiling at her light hearted attempt at humor, he offered the only comfort he could give. "Please come to the church later and I will hear your confession. Perhaps by then I will have some good news."