It'd taken a real toll on him, the fire had. He'd been angry, maybe even bitter, knowing he hadn't been able to save Melinda Ferris or either of her children.
When a single woman dies like that it's hard on an average man. When children are involved it will bring the even harshest man's emotions to the front.
Jess was shattered.
I sat up in my bed, listening to him pacing the floor, cursing under his breath. He'd been on the scene, standing by the blaze. Ash dusted his clothes. Blood seeped from a gash on his head.
I winced as I heard his fist- damn, it had to still be sore from the burns- crash down on the table. Something rattled dangerously. He cursed again, agitated.
It taken him a few minutes to even notice me when I'd ridden up. When he did he finally did look over his normally blue eyes were nearly black.
"I heard them, Slim." he murmured, haunted.
There was nothing I could say or do. Useless as a bent nail, I stood at his side and breathed in the smoke.
Jess had fallen silent in the main room now. Maybe he'd calmed down.
The nightmares had returned, each more violent than the last. He'd wake up screaming, calling out names. The blankets would either be wound around him or thrown to the floor.
My brown furrowed. A grating sound met my ears. I sat up a little straighter. He was checking on his gunfighter pistol, with it's filed down hammer and worn to a perfect polish handle.
Every morning he would drag himself out of bed, exhausted and drenched in sweat, walk in the kitchen like a wounded puma and eat something measly. Then he'd go straight outside, into the cold without a word. His chores were always done.
"Ten days to Christmas." He'd whispered once, staring into the general direction of Widow Ferris' homestead. "Only ten days."
Well, now it was Christmas Eve. I could only imagine what type of hell Jess was putting himself through, imagining those two little tots going through their presents, excited by the magic of the day.
I eased myself out of bed, the silence unsettling.
Mort had clapped a hand on his shoulder, but Jess shrugged it off. Sighing the sheriff had told him, "It wasn't your fault and there wasn't anything you could do, Son."
I wished he'd taken it to heart.
I pushed the bedroom door open. "Jess, I-"
Jess wasn't there. And neither was his gun.
I felt my stomach sinking. His coat was still hanging on the hook by the door. And there was a note on the table.
I almost chocked on my heart.
"I'm sorry Slim," it said in shaky hand, "The nightmares are back. I can't do it no more."
There was nothing else.
I slumped forward onto the table. "Dear God, please- no!"
Jess
I don't reckon I was thinking right, but that was half of the reason. I wandered out to the barn, not feeling the cold on my flesh. The white breeze nearly blinded me, but I plodded on. So what if the snow got to me first? It didn't matter.
Traveler stood in his stall, sleeping when I arrived, awake by the time I reached him. He gave a gentle nicker.
I couldn't get it out of my mind. Not my Ma's cries, not my sibling's, not Widow Ferris' little one's. The incident had caused new wounds and reopened some old ones.
Damn, everything reminded me of- of red and orange licking wood, of blue in the depth. Black smoke rolled in my mind and my mother's face in the midst of it- tear stained and- and-
I sobbed. It hurt to breath at this point, and the sob was nearly more than my body could stand. I hadn't really slept for the last nine nights, just replayed it, over and over.
Maybe there was nothing I could have done. Maybe Mort was right. But that almost made it worse. Almost made me feel like there was no hope in the world.
The gun hurt my hand. The burns, Doc had said, would take a while to heal. They wouldn't get a chance. Not if tonight worked out like I planned.
I lifted it to my head and rested the barrel against my temple. I'd heard it said that taking your own life was a sin.
"Well God," I spoke out, my own voice oddly unfamiliar and strong in the frozen night air. "I reckon if you want to stop me you'd best do it now."
And I placed my finger on the trigger.
"Don't put your finger on the trigger til you're ready to shoot." Pa's instructions- as well as an image of him lying twisted on the ground- flashed bright in my head.
I laughed to myself. I was as ready as I'd ever be.
"Why?" A small voice asked.
"I just plumb can't do it no more." I responded.
"Not even for my brother?"
I jolted. "What?"
"You can't even do it for Slim?"
Instinctively I took my gun and did a full sweep around the barn. "Who are you?"
"Name's Nathaniel. I'm Slim's little brother."
I felt the blood draining from my face. Slim said he'd had another sibling, one who'd died when he was still just a young boy.
"What's the matter, Jess?" the voice- not unlike Andy's- asked softly.
"Where are you?"
"You want to see me?"
I caught my breath, somehow knowing full well that spirits often weren't pretty things. "No."
It laughed lightly. "I'll appear as I would be. Is that better?"
I tried to find the location of the voice. It seemed to just drift from nowhere.
"I'm behind you." it said in its soft way.
I flinched.
"It's okay. Turn around."
I eased my head around and found myself staring at a man- rather, a boy- maybe eighteen years of age. He had brown eyes, like Andy's in shape and everything, but a shock of dirty blond hair that reminded me of Slim. He was softer featured than his brothers, almost pretty, with a golden hue to his skin. His face was melancholy.
"See? I'm not blasphemously ugly, am I?"
I trained my barrel on him. "Who are you?"
"I already told you. And you believe me too, even if you'd rather not."
And damned if I didn't. He held something oddly 'Sherman' about him. Maybe the way he could boss me around without getting his head blown off.
"What do you want?" I never lowered my gun.
He smiled sadly. "Slim needs you."
"Yeah," I barked, eyes narrowed. "Like he needs a kick in the pants. I ain't doing him no good like this."
"You could talk about it."
"To who?"
"Slim would listen." Nathaniel said patiently. "God would listen."
I laughed. "He didn't listen when I begged him to save my family."
"Are you angry?"
"You're damned right I'm angry!" I growled, but tears were starting to well. "He took them from me!"
"God did? Or Bannister?"
"I-" I froze, swallowing my emotion as best I could. "Listen, whoever you are-"
"Nathaniel." he said kindly.
"And listen good! You aren't real. And God ain't gonna help me."
"How do you know he's not?"
"What do you mean by that?" My eyes turned to slits.
"Slim's in the house praying." Nathaniel said with a very definite tone. "For God to help you."
"What are you doing here?"
"I want to help."
"Me seeing ghosts ain't helping one dad-gummed thing."
"Isn't it?"
"No!"
"Was it better when you couldn't see me?"
I stopped pacing- when had I started pacing?- and looked him dead in the eye. "No."
"Then what do you want?"
I broke into laughter. The irony of the whole thing was too much to swallow. He had to be a Sherman, he just had to be. There was too much about him that got under my skin.
I sat down across from him on a bale of hay. "Go ahead and talk, I guess."
"Why don't you talk to Slim about it?"
"They're my problems. Not his."
"Has my brother really changed so much that he wouldn't listen to another man's sorrows?"
"No. It just ain't his job to."
Nathaniel nodded. "I see. You don't want to be a burden."
I swallowed and glanced at my burnt hands. "I reckon that's it."
"But you'll leave him on the ranch, alone? Jonesy away with my little brother in Saint Louis and you'll just… leave him here?"
I set my jaw and plowed through what I had to say. "Look, I just got done telling you- the nightmares and the memories- I can't do it no more- and I ain't no good to him like this!"
"But you don't have to be like this. Slim would listen. He would help."
Pulling my gaze away, I looked back at my gun. It was still an option, still an out. The handle had been worn smooth, the mechanism was so familiar… there would be no pain. No mistakes. Jess Harper was fast, and he didn't miss.
Nathaniel sighed loudly. "I can't physically stop you."
"Well, that's a relief." I chuckled, but my focus stayed on the gun.
He eyed me a little like Slim would. "But I can try to make you see it differently."
"How so?" I asked mockingly. When had I become so bold with spirits as to tease one with a sense of mastership?
Again he looked at me like Slim. "Do you know what would have become of Andy if you hadn't come?"
I didn't answer. I reckon I did. He'd be out on some trail, eating cold beans and hunted by at least one soul or another. That boy had wanderlust bad, and Slim just didn't know how to deal with it. He cracked down so hard he nearly drove the boy out into the wild blue.
"Worse." Nathaniel said quietly. "He'd be dead."
I glanced up. "What?"
"April 26th. 12:32 pm. High noon finds him dead on the streets. Your bullet in his chest. Dead before he knew what happened." He raised those dark brown eyes. "Jess Harper is fast. And he doesn't miss."
"I wouldn't shoot Andy." I croaked.
"You wouldn't know him. He'd be another kid, out for glory." He said emptily. "And Slim would hunt you down. He never finds you, but the relay station is sold and Jonesy leaves. He can't stay. Slim is nearly insane with the death of his brother, always reaching out to make you pay but never being able to."
I could imagine the torment this would bring him without all of Nathaniel's colorful assistance.
Slim would be sick, feeling not only the loss of a brother, but the heavy guilt of letting his father and mother down. He would be looking for me forever. In every town and in the face of every single stranger. The stage line would drive him mad, never knowing if it was me who stepped down for a cup of coffee. But the worse part was him feel as though Andy's blood was on his hands.
"Awful, huh?"
I glared at the spirit. "What is this supposed to do? It didn't happen. I already stopped it from happening. So now-"
"So now you want to do it again."
My mouth hung open. "What? I'd never hurt Andy! I wouldn't do that to Slim!"
"You're brothers." Nathaniel informed me. "And he would feel every bit as badly."
I paused for a second. Just long enough to let that Sherman get his foot in the door.
"He comes out to the barn, looking for you, hoping to talk it out with you. He can't stand knowing he didn't try sooner. He finds you dead, gun in your hand."
I tuned the boy out.
Slim would be sick. Not only at the loss of a friend- of a brother- but with the guilt of letting both me and Andy down. He would be looking for me forever, in every town and in the face of every single stranger. The stage line- it would drive him mad. Each dark haired man with a gun strapped to his leg would become me. But the worse part… that was him, believing he could have stopped me. That my blood was on his hands.
"Pretty picture, isn't it?" Nathaniel said solemnly. "I can't be here when he comes, he can't see me. But Jess?"
I looked up.
"Tell me you'll wait? He'll be out in a few seconds and he can help. Talking to him will help. I promise."
I nodded and let the gun slip from my throbbing fingers. Nathaniel disappeared as it fell.
Slim
He was sitting on a hay bale, pale, as if he'd seen a ghost, his eyes empty. One half bandaged hand hung limp. Above the gun that had threatened to take my Pard's life once before this.
"I can't do it anymore, Slim." He whispered, rasping almost painfully.
"You don't have to." I managed. I took my wool lined coat off to wrap around his shoulders. I wanted to wrap him in a hug, but I held myself back. "Not alone, anyways."
What Jess did next still surprises me to even this day. He turned to me, burst into tears and threw his arms around my neck, like Andy would after a bad fright as a little boy.
"I'm sorry Slim!"
"I've got you Pard." I said carefully. "Let's get back inside, you're about half froze."
"Slim, I almost…"
"I know." I answered gently, helping him to his feet. He was shaky all over. "But you didn't. Thank God you didn't."
He looked at me, his eyes the clearest they'd been since the fire. "Slim?"
"Yeah?"
"I need to talk about it."
"Alright."
He sighed and shrugged off my coat. "You wear this, there's more of you to get cold."
I smiled weakly. "I dressed for a blizzard, I figured I was gonna have to ride after you."
"You'd of ridden into that?!" He demanded.
"Wouldn't you have?"
He stopped and swallowed. "I reckon so, but I ain't got no more sense than a- a-"
"Texan?"
I got pelted by his hat. It was not very hard, and came with a lot of effort, but damn it felt good. It felt like change was promised.
He pulled my coat around his shoulders and trudged back to the house. I paused, only a few steps behind him, and glanced up. Heaven only knew what that cowboy was going to tell me. I knew only that it would be heartbreaking. But I audibly thanked God I would get to hear it.
This was, of course, inspired in large by 'It's A Wonderful Life' and 'A Christmas Carol'.
I remember having read a fan's story about Slim's brother, Nathaniel, passing while our hero was still young. I hope that the author of that story does not mind me borrowing dear Nathaniel for my story.
I am aware that the holidays can be a very heavy burden on even the strongest of characters and hope that if the season has been as rough on you as it has been on me that you take this as your sign to reach out and talk about it. Find a friend, a therapist, a counselor, a leader at a church- just please don't keep it to yourself. Let someone help you carry your burden.
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!
