A PAST FOREVER PRESENT

CHAPTER 25

Murdoch woke up with a start. For a moment he felt disoriented until he remembered where he was and what today would bring. He checked his watch and realized it was almost four-thirty. He figured Scott and Val were either already awake or about to be as they were supposed to leave around five-thirty, right after taking a quick breakfast at one of the local cafés that opened very early.

The older man hurriedly went to the washstand and proceeded to take care of his morning ablutions. Once he was done, he knocked on the adjoining door of their bedrooms and heard a loud grunt. After a few minutes, the door creaked open and Val struck his head out.

Murdoch hardly repressed a chuckle. Val looked anything but in the best of shape. In fact, he looked like someone who had hardly slept. His eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard and his hair was sticking in all directions. No matter how many times he tried to smooth his hair in place, it was no use and Murdoch couldn't help but smile at his vain attempt. It definitely reminded him of his younger son and pangs of sadness overcame him. Quickly, he brushed those feelings off not wanting to show how much Johnny's disappearance was affecting him.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure. We're almost done," Scott answered from where he was standing near the washstand.

"Speak for yourself," Val said, as he opened the door wider and turned back to go sit on his bed.

This time, when Murdoch saw the state of the bed, he laughed out loud. "What happened, Val? Did you have a fight with your bed sheets?

Val only grunted, passed his hands over his face and then rubbed his eyes furiously.

"You look like hell," Murdoch continued as he made his way inside the room to finally sit on Scott's bed. "What's the matter with you?"

"Ask Scott," the man groaned. "If he's done with his 'toilet' as he calls it, then maybe I can make mine. Then we can get going. Time's a wasting."

Murdoch looked questioningly at his son who was grinning ear to ear and was seemingly not disturbed by the sheriff's outburst.

"Oh, don't worry, Murdoch. He's just a grumpy old man when he wakes up," Scott answered as he moved away from the washstand to let Val use it.

"Old man? Old man? The last one that called me that ended up facing me in a dusty street," Val said, as he got up off the bed and walked menacingly toward Scott.

"And who was the lucky fellow?" Scott asked, moving away from the washstand.

"Your brother. That was in…" Val started to say only to stop when seeing the victorious grin on Scott's face.

"So, that's how you two met, uh?"

Val nodded and snorted. "Happy now?"

"Nope. I still want the whole story."

"To hell with your story. You already kept me awake part of the night first with a few card games because you were not sleepy and then with your endless questions," the sheriff answered as he finally got in front of the spot Scott had just left.

"What questions?" Murdoch wanted to know.

"He wanted me to tell him the story of my life."

"Val Crawford, if I may respectfully remind you, you were glad to oblige."

"Respectfully, huh? Well, maybe… for that part. But then, you kept pushing me about how I met Johnny, how old he was and what we've done while we rode together."

"And? What's wrong with that?" asked Murdoch, seriously.

"Ain't any of his business. If Johnny hasn't told him by now it's because he doesn't want to," Val responded, a little more harshly then he would have liked. "Me, I just want to find him and once I do, I'll kill him myself," he continued, more softly, as he filled the washstand with clean water.

"Well, you'll have to stand in line, Sheriff. I'm taking the first turn," Murdoch deadpanned.

"And me the second," Scott said.

Val stopped his vain attempt at smoothing his hair and looked up in the glass. He could see both the Lancer patriarch and Scott hovering nearby. He splashed some water in his face, grabbed a clean towel and dried himself. Then, slowly, he turned toward the Lancers who were now both sitting on the edge of Scott's bed.

"I'm sorry," he said with a sheepish grin. "It's just that he… He means so much to me. You have no idea."

"That's why I was asking those questions, Val," Scott said, more seriously this time. "I'm sorry I was such a bother."

"You're not and I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have jumped down your throat like I did. Johnny has saved my sorry hide more than once and I consider him like my brother. I'd do anything to help him, absolutely anything."

"Maybe if you agreed to talk to me about those times you rode with him…" started Scott, "… Well, what I mean to say is that maybe together we can figure out what he's gonna do once he's on the other side of the border."

"Alright, alright, Scott Lancer. I'll tell you a bedtime story or two once we're on the road," Val said, throwing his hands in the air. "But don't complain afterwards if my stories don't live up to your expectations."

Scott smiled in triumph while Murdoch cleared his throat and slowly got up from the bed. "Well, gentlemen, if you're all done, I think we should head over to the café and have our breakfast. It's getting late. I'll see you off afterwards."

Forty-five minutes later, having taken a hearty breakfast, the two men were ready to go. True to his words, Murdoch went with them to the livery and watched them go, not without reiterating his instructions as to how he was expecting to be kept informed of their progress, whether or not they had news of the younger Lancer.

/ / / / /

After he finished his meal, Johnny agreed to play a few hands of poker and share a few drinks with the brothers and a couple of passengers. Less than two hours later, he excused himself and told the brothers he would sleep outside, pretexting the place was too crowded for his taste.

The owner of the way station gave him a couple of blankets and shortly afterwards Johnny made his way to the barn. Once there, he gathered a pile of fresh hay and made as comfortable a bed as he could. But, sleep kept evading him.

Instead, whenever he closed his eyes, visions of the time he had spent with Flor and her family came visiting him. After a few more attempts to sleep, he let go and let the memories flood back into his heart and his mind.

/

He thought he had seen an angel out there, in the desert. And that angel wanted to save his life and take him out of that forsaken desert. It was funny because that same desert had often been a place he had considered as friendly, where he had hidden from the entire world until such time as he would be ready once again to face his destiny. But it couldn't possibly have been an angel. No, it was just a dream, as he knew perfectly well that he wasn't worth saving. No matter how much good he'd try to do lately, his soul was blackened by those couple of years of free killings he'd done when he'd started in the business. He was bad, as bad as a rotten apple. Heck, maybe his mama's men had been right after all. Maybe they had all seen through him and his black heart. He deserved nothing more than being trashed about and then, killed.

In Hell… that's where he was. That's why he felt so hot. That's it. He was dead and was now rotting in Hell. The Devil had finally come to claim his due. And the place was so damn hot. But… Wait a second! What was that he just felt on his forehead? Something soothing and wonderfully cool like… like a cold compress. Would there be anything that refreshing in Hell? No, probably not. So maybe he wasn't quite there yet. But, where was he if he wasn't in Hell?

Slowly, awareness of his surroundings returned. He fought to open his eyes but they were stubbornly refusing to obey his command. Then he heard her voice – his angel's voice right beside his ear. He could feel her sweet breath on the side of his face and it felt good. Never would he forget her voice, no matter what. Never would he forget her name either, Flor.

"Adelantado, ábrete los ojos. Que él. Estás haciendo bien." (Come on, open your eyes. That's it. You're doing well.")

He struggled and finally was able to open his eyes only to shut them again, as a deep moan escaped his lips. The light in the room was too bright and he couldn't stand it. He let pass a few minutes and chancing it, he opened his eyes again, but only fractionally. His angel had gone from his side and was now standing near a window. She pulled the drapes closed and came back to sit by his side.

He looked at her, curiously. She was a little older than he remembered but not yet thirty, more like twenty-four or twenty-five. Her face was oval and her dark hair was gathered in a single braid, which was hanging on the front of her left shoulder down to her waist. Her eyes were kind and a very deep velvety brown. He felt reassured and tried to speak.

With her left hand, she put two fingers on his mouth. "Not yet. Stay calm. My brother and my husband will come back soon. They've gone to fetch the doctor."

"Doctor?" he croaked, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice.

"Shhh, don't try to speak yet. We followed Señor Castaneda's men when they took you with them. They've beaten you within an inch of your life and left you to die in the desert."

"I…"

"Shhh. Please, don't speak. Here, drink this but just a little bit or else you will be sick," she said, holding his head so he could take a sip of the cool water she was offering him from the cup she brought to his lips.

Then, she helped him lie down again and turned to fetch something on the nightstand – a small jar –, which she opened. She dipped a finger in it and covered his dried lips with a soothing balm.

"Try not to lick your lips right away."

Johnny nodded and closed his eyes once again. He felt safe, at least for the time being and let himself fall back into oblivion, murmuring the name of his angel.

The next time he woke up was to find an older very kind-looking man by his side. He didn't quite know how long he had slept but it didn't really matter. He had the feeling he was in good hands and had nothing to fear. He just didn't know for how long – long enough for him to recuperate he hoped.

"You're… doctor?"

"Yes, I am Doctor Pedro Ramírez. Now, young man, don't move while I examine you."

"You're not…"

"… Mexican? No, I'm not… well, actually I am Spanish."

"Oh," Johnny simply said, closing his eyes once again, too weak to try to pretend otherwise. Meekly, he let the doctor do his exam, trying to stay as still as possible, which was hard considering he hardly could find any position in which he felt comfortable.

The man removed the blanket that covered him and gasped at the sight he was met with. The boy's chest and arms were covered with dark bruises of varying sizes. From his talk with Flor, he knew the boy had been stabbed on his left thigh, that the wound was very deep and that the blood loss was important. She had done the best she could by cleaning and disinfecting the wound and then covering it with a clean bandage.

The bruises could wait; there wasn't much he could do about them aside from applying a poultice. The knife wound, however, was another matter altogether. As gently as possible, he removed the soiled bandaged to have a look at the wound. The blood was still seeping and what he saw, once he cleaned the wound again, took his breath away. The laceration was six inches long, a little more than one inch wide and at least four inches deep. He could even see right down to the bone. It was obvious that whoever had inflicted the wound to the boy's leg had done so to do as much damage as possible.

As soon as he started cleaning the deep cut, the boy's eyes had jerked open and he had let out a scream. Then, he thrashed wildly until he finally passed out. It had taken the help of Flor's husband and brothers to restrain the young patient and stop him from hurting himself even more.

It was only a few hours after that Johnny finally regained his senses. Once again, he woke up to find Flor by his side.

"F…Flor?"

"¿Recuerdas mi nombre?" ("You remember my name?")

"Si. Me llamo…" ("Yes. My name is…")

"Sé quién eres." ("I know who you are.")

"¿Haces? ¿Cómo?" ("You do? How?") he asked, as he tried to change position.

Flor immediately helped him up a little bit and put a couple of pillows behind his back to support him. She then gave him some water. "My younger brother told me," she answered. "He told us you saved him a few months ago. His name is Ramon Alvarado."

"Ah, Ramon! Si, I remember. He… The rurales captured him… and they were about to… lynch him." As he said so, he closed his eyes, already exhausted.

Flor forced him to lay down once again and gently chastised him.

"You shouldn't try to do too much too soon. You've lost a lot of blood and need to rest."

"How bad?"

"Knife wound to your left thigh, three cracked ribs, lots of deep bruises, a mild head wound. Doctor Ramírez has given strict orders for you to stay in bed for at least five days."

"Five days?"

"Yes. And believe me, you better obey him. He has a very mean temper."

"He has no right telling me what to do, nobody does," Johnny started saying, his eyes flashing dangerously while he tried to get up.

Flor backed off a bit and was about to call for help when Johnny realized he was being foolish.

"Lo siento, señorita Castillo. I'm really sorry. I…"

"It's alright, señor Madrid, it's alright. I understand."

"It's Johnny. Please, call me Johnny or… Juanito, if you prefer."

"I will but only if you call me Flor."

Johnny smiled and nodded before continuing. "Okay. But, I shouldn't have said that. I know you're all trying to help. The shame is on me."

"Don't say that. I know young men like you don't like to feel helpless. You're safe here, at least for now.

"Did you cover your tracks?"

"Yes, we did," said a deep masculine voice coming from the left side of the room.

Flor moved from the bedside to let a middle-aged man take her place beside the young gunfighter. The man was tall and well built. His hair was cut short and he wore a mustache. He was dressed in the accustomed white pants and shirt of the peons but his garments were spotless. Although he was a peon, he had an air of grandeur about him and Johnny immediately felt a kind of power coming from the man.

"I'm Esteban, Flor's husband."

"I'm –,"

"– Johnny Madrid, I know. We're indebted to you."

"No, I am. You saved my life in the desert."

"Speaking of this, what you did back in the village was foolish," Esteban continued, barely acknowledging the words Johnny said with a nod. "You shouldn't have tackled Señor Castaneda alone."

"I… only wanted to help. This man, he is… he is El Diablo. What he's doing isn't right."

"We all know that but there's nothing we can do. We're only poor peons. We work the field for men such as Castaneda."

"But, you have rights. They can't just… strip you of everything you have. It's not right." Johnny answered, getting himself in a high state of agitation.

Flor rushed to the other side of the bed and put her hand on his chest. Johnny looked at her, in defiance at first, daring her to say something but she didn't. She had no need saying anything as her eyes spoke volumes. Finally, he lowered his eyes and dipped his head. Then, he raised his head again and smiled at her.

"I'm sorry. It's just that I get carried away when I witness things like that."

"You could have gotten killed. You know that, don't you." Esteban said

"Si. But these men, those like Castaneda and Lopez, they're… they're bastar…" Johnny started to say but stopped short upon seeing the look of reprobation in Flor's eyes. "Lo siento, Flor. I didn't mean to…"

"Don't worry about that. She's giving me and her brothers that look all the time, too, whenever we say what she considers a bad word," Esteban said, laughing.

Johnny burst out laughing, too, until the pain in his ribs reminded him he shouldn't do that. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I can't stay here," he finally said, as he reopened his eyes a few minutes later.

"You have no choice. The doctor's orders are very clear. You can't move," Flor said.

"You don't understand. It's dangerous for you. If Castaneda finds out you've helped me or worst, if Capitán Lopez does –"

"They won't. Nobody saw us taking you here," Flor countered.

"Beside, I'm the head of this village. Nobody will betray your presence here."

Johnny examined Esteban and Flor carefully. All he could see was a strong desire to help him because they thought they owed him something. He shook his head; they really had no idea how dangerous it was for them to help him. But how could he dissuade them?

He was in no condition to move out and he knew it. He couldn't breathe properly because of the cracked ribs and there was no way he could walk out, not with a bum leg. He needed to rest, at least for a couple of days. It's not that he wasn't grateful for the opportunity he was given, he was, but he was afraid his being here in their home would result in problems for them in the long run.

/

Johnny was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't hear the owner of the way station until he was almost upon him.

"Mr. Lancer, it's breakfast time. Are you coming?" the man called.

"Yeah. Give me a minute," Johnny said, yawning.

He got up, folded the blankets and took them with him back to the station. He left them on a bench outside, near the back entrance, and made his way into the building. He knew he looked anything but rested but that couldn't be helped. He'd try to sleep in the stage, even if it was with one eye open. It would be better than nothing.

Thinking about Flor and her family had made him realize he needed to respond to her call. What had happened once he had been healed made it impossible for him not to. He shook his head, now wasn't the time to remember those events. If he did, he wouldn't be able to eat and he needed his strength. He stored the memories in the back of his mind for the time being, promising himself he'd revisit later. That might help him get ready for whatever was awaiting him in Mexico.

The passengers finished with their breakfast and less than half an hour later they were ready to continue their trip. Johnny took his place inside the stage, near the window, telling the brothers he would climb on top with them later on, at their next stop. He wasn't quite in the mood to converse with the brothers and he hoped the other passengers wouldn't insist on talking to him. He desperately needed a bit of shuteye and he had every intention of doing so. So, he settled down in his corner and as soon as the coach pulled out of the station, he put his hat down to hide his eyes.

TBC