Chapter Five

Pain.

That feeling couldn't exist after death, unless the soul plummeted to the fires that belonged to the beast, and although what he experienced could be described as searing, this was different, as it wasn't his internal being that was being eaten raw, but the outer. It was dark and cold, with something surrounding him that felt damp, at least there was moisture slipping down his face from somewhere. Blood. It was too thick to be rain, but that might have also been in existence, as an icy fragrance that resembled snow was in the air, but it was devoid of fluffy flakes. And with pain, blood and scent proving to be in working condition, Slim knew he was still alive.

But how? The fall should have broken every bone in his body, or if crushing blows hadn't embraced his every tumble, shredded flesh would have taken its place, slicing too deep to be repairable. He had known the first strike, his back meeting with a rectangular slab of rock, but without arms to catch him, the ledge eagerly released his frame for what lay lower, and the bottom was much worse than where he had begun. Something long and sharp pierced his side, and as Slim's mouth emitted a haggard gasp when the violent tooth released him, he was being taken away on big, black wings, flapping higher into the sky until there was nothing else but painlessness and bliss. Yet despite being ready to release his soul, it wasn't death he was experiencing.

But why? There was no reason for him to survive. He had willfully risked it all to send the killer of his family to his death, and even that might have proved futile, for if Slim could survive, Rat could have only slipped over the surface of his grave too. The repulsive thought was as real as the pain pummeling his every inch, but Slim also knew it would be impossible for his adversary to experience the fall and come through unscathed. In the earliest moments of going over the cliff, Slim was aware of the punishment of his own body, but before his senses took complete control of what he experienced, he had heard the scream. Rat went through hell, if not to drop completely into it on impact, but no matter what happened, the man wasn't running through freedom with a snarky laugh stuck in his throat. Slim would have rather had the truth right there in front of him, but whatever was his reality would have to wait to be seen, if it ever could.

It was darkest corner of black, and he was stuck in its ominous center. Slim knew his eyes were opened because he could feel the movement of his eyelids and the flutter of his lashes, but there was nothing visual he could connect to. Only the stifling darkness, for it didn't even have texture or shape. He began to raise a hand, but the pain raced through every nerve, tingling to the tips of his fingers, but still he forced it upward. Gritting his teeth, the endurance was won, and Slim's hand reached the level of his face, and as he moved the fingers, he could see the dark, distinct outlines against an even darker backdrop. He wasn't blind. It was only the dead of night, with the elements of nature keeping it locked in its most depressing shade.

Still aware of the blood that coated part of his head, there really was more to what was flowing over him other than the thicker form of liquid. It was raining, harder now, and the wind made it pummel everything it touched like sturdy beads were being hurled from the sky. He felt the drops soaking through to his skin, and for the first time since parting the curtain of consciousness, Slim noticed the cold. He shivered, but it was a deeper tremble than the type of chill that sent a man's teeth to chattering when out doing chores in the snow. This was the kind that could stifle an internal flame, but to Slim, the brisk shower couldn't alter him any further, for Slim's light had already been blown out long before the temperature hovered over the freezing line.

Air rushing out of his lungs prompted a cough, and turning his face toward his shoulder, he pressed the wet fabric into his mouth, reducing what was left to a sputter, but his chest, not relieved of its pressure, started to ache. It was instinctive to want to roll over to his side, aiding his shortened breaths, yet even though his brain registered the command to move, there wasn't a single part of him that was willing to obey. Frustrated, Slim dropped his lashes, willing to accept the fate if they would never reopen, but something bright hovering above him several hours later made his vision return.

It was daylight, and with the sun's rays all around him, Slim's mind couldn't determine if he had passed through a single night, or let several days go by him unaware, but his thoughts, although hazy, could still latch onto one piece of importance. Rat. He had to know, he had to find out if it was done. Darkness could tell him nothing, but now being in the opposite could tell him everything. Flat on his back, his eyes could see little except the vastness above him, and even though Slim could grasp far enough into the level of understanding that it would take more than his own strength to raise him, he was still going to try.

One leg began to move, but barely feeling it, he had to vocally command it to bend, and as the fold began, Slim shoved one hand against its rear side, forcing his knee to find the ground. Clawing the dirt alongside him, Slim searched for a source of support, and latching onto a rock that fit around his palm, he secured its grip, and slowly, Slim began to rise. Panting through pain and exertion, Slim's back left the earth as the dots of darkness threatened to slam him back down. He groaned, and the noise snapped across his senses, turning the black to gray, and then with a single blink, he beat oblivion's harsh pull.

Slim's muscles shook as he retained the position, but he pressed the knee in deeper, defying his weakness with a greater need controlling him, and his head began to slide from one side to the other, searching for anything, even a single boot that would point him to Rat. He would find it before his chin brushed against his left shoulder. An open palm made his lashes widen, and following the line of the arm, Slim's gaze froze upon the outlaw's face. Color gone, neck bent, with blood coming from his mouth and ear long grown still, the results were obvious. Rat was dead. It was over. He had done his duty and the revenge he harbored inside could be eliminated.

Dropping to the ground as his strength wasted away, Slim's mouth emitted a cry along with the severe pain, and even pummeling his body at the highest degree, it was clear that something else was wrong. He was cold, too cold. The rain and wind had cut further into him than just the surface, darting through his veins, trying to seize him completely as it raced to his brain, and the pain was helping its advance. Slim knew the moment it took on the final transition, and without offering a single punch to fight it, he allowed the cold to take his senses. The scene around him melted to a blurry mess, and wanting to shut it off, he closed his eyes, but similar images stole the familiar darkness.

He shuddered, floating to a lighter weight as he sighed, knowing that he was going to die. Slim's sacrifice would still result in giving his all. For some reason, his death had only been prolonged, perhaps the only reason was for him to see that the man that murdered his loved ones had been ended by his own hand after all. There would be no peace, but he could be buried to fully rest. Slim let his eyes find their closure, and then he waited for time to take care what was left.

"Slim!"

The sound of his name cut through the fog, but even though Slim's eyes opened to slits, he couldn't see through the density, even though the misty gray only existed in his mind. Like the shroud, the shout couldn't have been real, unless the call had come from somewhere above on the heights of light, to promise him that he would be kept away from the abyss of darkness forever. He closed his eyes once more, yearning to sleep, wanting to find that place of eternal solace, but there was another that would do anything to prevent him from having it.

"Slim!" Jess' shout emulated fear as he took the remaining distance downward in a stumble, landing on his knees beside Slim's body that looked more like a corpse than a living, breathing man, but the evidence was there as his chest still moved, with a disturbing rattling sound to go with it.

"Mmm." The groan was real, but its direction sounded so strange, Jess was certain that it wasn't given for him.

"Slim." Jess put a hand underneath Slim's head, slick with blood, and Jess felt an eerie sensation dart through his palm, up his arm, resulting in a stab to his chest, for the blood was the only heat he could feel. "Can you hear me? It's Jess."

"No. No. You're not Jess, you can't be. Jess is dead," Slim mumbled through his shaking lips. "Andy. Jonesy. All gone."

"Slim!" Jess' hands gripped Slim's shoulders, afraid to give him a firm shake, but his fingers probed deeply into his flesh. "I'm right here, Slim. Look at me! I ain't dead! None of us are, but you're gonna be if you don't help me out."

"Dear God, why?" Slim still had strength to clench both fists, and they rose upward together, stopping just short of punching Jess in the jaw. "Why am I still alive? Why?"

"I reckon it's because you're too stubborn to go under," Jess answered, his skin crawling with such a high level of alarm it felt as if he was sitting in an ant hill. He didn't know if Slim could understand a word he said, but he spoke each one with such intensity, even the ground could hear the passion he delivered. "And I'm gonna help you fight it, every inch of the way!"

"Leave me alone," Slim said, the slur coming off of his tongue as obvious as if he had been drinking. "I want to die."

"Well, you gotta big problem with that, Pard," Jess' voice lifted to the heavens as he slammed a fist into his thigh. "Because I won't let you! And dad-gummit, the Lord better be on my side!"