In my mind, I've divided this story into three arcs. The first one ends with this chapter. The other two will be about the same length as this one, so, yes, there's still a long way to go.
THE RIGHT TURN OF THE ROAD
Chapter 14
It was a week since Gabriel had been removed from service, and Sergeant Gonzales was starting to get worried. He had dropped by a couple of times, but on each occasion, it had looked like Gabriel wasn't doing anything productive. The first two times he had brushed it off, thinking that the former lieutenant was in shock and needed a while to come to terms with everything. But when he was still only staring at the wall, muttering curses at himself and throwing things around when he got too angry after six days had passed, Gonzales decided that enough was enough.
"You can't keep going like this," he said, hoping that his voice sounded determined enough and that he wouldn't get punched for his words.
Gabriel glanced up at him from the chair on which he was slumped. He had a frown plastered on his features, but there was none of the scathing anger Gonzales was used to. That was yet another thing that made him certain that something wasn't right.
"Easy for you to say. You haven't lost everything," Gabriel growled.
"Neither have you. There are still plenty of things for you to do."
"Like what?"
Gonzales drew a deep breath. "You could start by getting out of this room. It's not healthy to sit here all day."
"I already tried that," Gabriel said with a dismissive snort. He turned to look outside the window, refusing to meet Gonzales' eyes. "I don't care to repeat that experience."
Gonzales sighed. He had heard about what had happened at the town square. He guessed he couldn't really blame Gabriel for not being enthusiastic about going outside. It had to be hard on him to suddenly find himself the target of taunts and mockery, but locking himself into a room in a shady tavern was hardly the answer. Gonzales knew exactly what it was like when nobody showed you any respect and only yelled and laughed at you. Too often, he had got that exact treatment from Gabriel. He had always got back up and tried again and harder no matter what, and that was why he was having such a difficult time stomaching the former lieutenant's sudden apathy.
"That's not like you at all. If you don't want people to laugh at you, you should do something about it," Gonzales said.
"As much as I'd like to, I can't beat up everyone in San Tasco."
"How about getting a job? Anything is better than doing nothing," Gonzales said. He couldn't believe he even had to say this. This pathetic wreck of a man wasn't anything like the sometimes even stupidly stubborn lieutenant he had known. Hadn't Gabriel insisted on courting Lolita no matter how many times she told him she loathed him? Hadn't he faced Zorro with confidence and enthusiasm every time they met regardless of how he lost every time?
Gabriel grimaced, obviously disgusted with the thought. "I'm not interested in anything this town has to offer," he grumbled. His frown deepened, and Gonzales didn't miss the way he was clenching his fists.
"Then why don't you leave? There are bigger and better places in California. You could go to your family in Monterey," Gonzales suggested. There was nothing holding Gabriel back now. He was free to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. In some ways, Gonzales was envious of that. He liked San Tasco, but it was starting to look like he'd never be promoted or positioned somewhere else.
"What the hell are you even doing here, Gonzales? Leave me alone!" Gabriel snarled, suddenly turning back to look at him. To his surprise, Gonzales was almost disappointed not to see the familiar anger in Gabriel's eyes even now.
It looks like his family is a sore spot, he mused.
"I'm just trying to help," he said.
"You can't help. There's nothing for me to do if I'm not in the army," Gabriel said, his voice filled with resentment and regret. Gonzales suddenly felt very awkward in his uniform and wished that he wasn't on duty.
"Don't say that. I'm sure there are plenty of things you can do."
"Get out. You're wasting my time," Gabriel replied. "I said, get out!" he snapped when Gonzales didn't make a move. To emphasise his words, he grabbed an empty bottle from the floor and threw it at him. Gonzales barely had the time to step aside, and he winced as he heard the bottle shatter against the wall behind him.
Fine, maybe he would have to do this the hard way, then. He drew a deep breath and sent a quick prayer to God.
"I'm not going anywhere, and now you're going to listen to me," he said in his sternest voice. He saw Gabriel's brows go up in surprise, and he continued quickly before the man had the chance to object.
"I know you're upset about what happened, and I know it was unfair. The commander shouldn't have done that. But right now there's nothing you can do about it, so you should get yourself together and start thinking about the future. I mean…" Gonzales said, not taking the time to breathe between his sentences and finally having to stop when he was too out of breath to continue. He went on in a quieter tone, "I mean, you can't just give up. What about your life?"
He braced himself for an angry rant from Gabriel, but to his surprise the man only stared at him for a moment. His mouth was twisted in annoyance, but he chose not to say anything and turned once more to look out the window.
"I'm sure things will turn out just fine. There are many kinds of work in San Tasco, and then you can -" Gonzales started to say, but Gabriel cut him off.
"Everything I ever wanted was to serve in the army and rise through the ranks. My whole future was based on that, and now all my plans are crushed. I'm nothing," Gabriel said, his frown deepening as he spoke. He swallowed and covered his eyes with his hand for a moment. "You have no right to tell me I should get over it."
Gonzales sighed. "I don't mean that you should forget about it. I know I couldn't. But if you don't start to do something productive… then what?"
"That's none of your business."
"Fine, be that way then. I don't know why I even bother anymore," Gonzales said, feeling his irritation grow. He grabbed his hat from the chair he had placed it on and marched to the door. He wrenched it open and walked outside, turning to look at Gabriel one more time.
"For your own sake, at least think about what I said," he told him. He didn't get an answer, so he closed the door and went downstairs.
The owner of the tavern was waiting for him there. Gonzales gave him a nod and a greeting. He was about to continue outside, but he turned back when the man addressed him.
"Sergeant, there's something I should discuss with you," he said.
"Oh? What is it?"
"It's the matter of paying for your friend's room. He has been here a week, and… well, I don't want to nag, but I'm trying to make a living here," the owner said.
"What? He hasn't paid?" Gonzales asked in surprise.
The owner shook his head and shrugged with a nonchalant gesture. "No. Whenever I try to ask him about it, he only yells at me," he said. He kept a small pause. "It would feel a little awkward given the circumstances, but I fear I have no choice but to ask help from the army soon."
"I'm sure there's no need for that. I'll talk to him about it when I drop by next time," Gonzales said at once. Getting the army involved would only make things worse. He hoped that Gabriel had the money to pay and that it had simply slipped his mind to do it – which wouldn't be surprising considering his current state.
"If he doesn't pay, someone will have to," the owner said, and Gonzales didn't miss the implications in the crafty look in his eyes.
"It won't come to that," he said. He certainly didn't have the money. He didn't get paid nearly enough for the work he did, and most of it was spent on food and drink. Whatever remained he saved and sent to his mother and siblings.
He was glad when he made it out of the tavern. He had been worrying about Gabriel for the whole week, and it was getting tiring. It was like he was carrying the burden of the situation all alone. Some of the men at the barracks had asked how Gabriel was doing, but nobody had expressed any interest in helping him. Gonzales was certain that he was Gabriel's only human contact at the moment, and it made him feel sad, helpless and frustrated.
It wasn't his responsibility to look after Gabriel. Now that the man was no longer his superior, he didn't even have a reason to keep talking to him. After the way Gabriel had always treated him, Gonzales knew that he had every right to turn his back on him and leave him alone with his problems. But he knew he wouldn't do it. He was too soft-hearted, and he remembered all too well how he had promised Gabriel he would pay him back for trying to help him with the incident of the stolen gem. He'd just have to hope that things would take a turn for the better.
"Too bad I can't count on Zorro to solve this mess for me," Gonzales muttered as he started walking down the street.
Gabriel remained sitting beside the window long after Gonzales had left. He wanted to feel angry at the sergeant for his annoying insistence on coming to see him and talking like he knew everything so much better. That idiot had no right to act like he was above him. The mere thought of being reduced to listening to the advice of someone like Gonzales made Gabriel sick. Even worse was that deep down he knew that every word Gonzales spoke was true.
He couldn't just sit in this room for the rest of his life. He knew it better than well; the thought was always on his mind and didn't give him a moment of rest. It wasn't that he wanted to remain locked inside four walls. It was that he didn't know what else he could have done. Raymond may have taken his rank, but he still considered himself a lieutenant and couldn't accept that his career in the army was lost to him. He didn't want anything else, and he knew he wasn't skilled or intelligent enough to achieve greatness anywhere else. The army had been his only chance.
Such thoughts made him clench his eyes shut in anger and humiliation. It was easy for Gonzales to talk! That man had no ambition and couldn't possibly understand how much it hurt to have your whole life crumble before your eyes. What options did he have left? He wasn't an educated man, so he would have to look for work at the mines or some farm near San Tasco. The thought made Gabriel grimace in disgust. He'd rather die.
No, there had to be something else. If he could prove that he was competent, maybe Raymond would accept him back. Maybe all of this was just the commander's sick punishment for his failure. Once he thought he was humiliated enough, he would take him back. If not, Gabriel would gladly grovel at his feet and beg. At this point he didn't have much pride left.
If he wanted to achieve that, he would first have to get his shoulder properly healed. It was still hurting even though he hadn't been doing anything with it in a week. Something was wrong, but he was at a loss of what to do about it. Dr. Timothy's offer about taking another look at it had been on his mind for the past few days, but to his shame he was almost afraid to go to see him. If the doctor had bad news to tell him, he didn't want to hear them. Or Dr. Timothy could even decide that he wasn't going to see him now that he was no longer a lieutenant and he didn't have to. He had been drunk when he had made his offer, and he might have reconsidered it after sobering up.
He stared out the window for one more moment before cursing under his breath and getting up on his feet. He'd have to at least try. Until then, he didn't know if everything truly was over, and the indecision and uncertainty were driving him insane.
Gabriel slipped outside, careful to avoid the owner of the tavern. He knew he should have paid for his room already, but that was the least of his worries at the moment, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with such petty matters.
He arrived at Dr. Timothy's medical office some twenty minutes later. Feeling a little self-conscious, he stepped inside and was happy to notice that there was nobody else there. The door to the practice opened, and a chubby woman stepped into the waiting room.
"Oh, good day. Can I help you?" she asked.
"Is the doctor here?" Gabriel asked, trying to recall the woman's name. He knew she was Dr. Timothy's assistant, but he hadn't visited the clinic often enough to get to know her at all.
"Yes, he's in his office," the woman said. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms on her chest. "It's good of you to come. It has been a quiet day, so he needs some distractions or he'll grab the bottle again," she continued in a long-suffering voice. She gestured for Gabriel to come in, and he had to wonder whether she knew who he was and if she even cared.
When he stepped into the office, he saw Dr. Timothy sitting behind his desk with his feet lifted up on it. He was swinging back and forth on his chair, but he immediately straightened when he noticed Gabriel.
"Oh, hello! You remembered. I was starting to wonder if you'd come at all," he said.
"I've been busy," Gabriel said swiftly.
Timothy nodded with a thoughtful hum. "Yes, I'm sure you had lots of important things to do. It's not easy to get your life back into order after something like that," he said. The words felt like salt in open wounds, but Gabriel did his best to keep the pleasant smile on his face.
"I was wondering if you'd have the time to look at my shoulder now," he said.
"I don't see anyone else here, so why not?" Timothy replied. He gestured for Gabriel to take a seat while he rolled up his sleeves and went to wash his hands. "You should take off your shirt," he added. As Gabriel did so, he felt the doctor's eyes not leave him for one moment.
"I take it it's bothering you," Timothy remarked.
"What?"
"Your shoulder. Nobody takes their shirt off like that if they have healthy arms," Timothy said. He walked around his desk and came to stand behind Gabriel. He pressed his hands on the scar from the musket ball. Gabriel couldn't help but shiver at the unpleasant feeling.
"Does it hurt often?" Timothy asked.
"It hurts all the damn time," Gabriel growled. Even if he did nothing with his arm, there was always that dull ache that refused to go away. He had got a little used to it by now, but every now and then he did something that made it flare up and reminded him that everything wasn't as it was meant to be.
"Well, does it hurt more when I do this?" Timothy asked and, without any warning, grabbed Gabriel's arm and pulled it up.
"Ow! Don't do that!" Gabriel snapped and yanked his arm back down. He pressed his hand against his shoulder and gritted his teeth at the blinding pain, willing it to be subdued. After a while, it was no longer as unbearable and had settled down to an uncomfortable burn.
"I thought it would be like this," Timothy remarked in thought.
"Like what?" Gabriel asked, rubbing his shoulder in an attempt to forget about the ache.
"The musket ball that hit you did more damage than it first looked like. I don't know what it is, but something inside your shoulder isn't right."
"And what can you do about it?"
"Nothing," Timothy replied with a shrug.
A chill went through Gabriel at these words. "Nothing?" he repeated. "What do you mean nothing? Aren't you supposed to be the best doctor here?"
"Maybe I am, but that doesn't mean I can work miracles. Do you have any idea what a complex part of the body the shoulder is? I just don't know what I could do. Maybe some top surgeon in Europe could do it, but I certainly not," Timothy said.
"What, so you mean that's it? That my arm will be useless for the rest of my life?" Gabriel barked. That just couldn't be! If this damn quack doctor was trying to tell him that -!
"It's not useless. Look, you can use it almost normally. Just don't lift it like I just did and you'll be fine," Timothy said.
"Then how am I supposed to handle a sword?" Gabriel asked. That was all that mattered!
"You should be happy your arm functions as well as it does. I know men who've lost almost all feeling in their arm or suffer horrible pain all the time after a lesser injury. Handling a sword is really the least of your – hey!" Timothy started to explain, but he was cut off when Gabriel suddenly caught him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against his desk.
"I won't accept that! There has to be something you can do!" he snarled. He felt his hands tremble as he held the doctor and ignored Timothy's frantic struggling in his grip. The pained grimace on the man's face didn't matter to him, and all he could hear was the beating of his heart in his ears. This pathetic excuse of a doctor couldn't be right! There had to be something that could be done; otherwise his life really had come to its end. He couldn't be a useless cripple with no way back to the army.
"Let go right now!" Timothy demanded as he tried to remove Gabriel's hands from his shirt.
"Tell me how to fix it!" Gabriel snapped.
"I can't help no matter how much you yell at me," Timothy said in a surprisingly calm voice considering the circumstances.
"You damn quack doctor! I'm going to -" Gabriel started, but then he felt something break against the back of his head. For a moment, he only blinked at the sharp pain and the feeling of liquid falling down his skin. Then everything went dizzy, and he fell on his knees with a groan.
He was barely aware of Dr. Timothy getting up from his desk and addressing his assistant who was holding the neck of a broken bottle.
"That was a little rash, Martina," he said as he straightened his shirt.
"I don't think so. He was going to hurt you."
"But did you have to use that bottle? That wine just came from Monterey. Do you have any idea how much I paid for it?" Timothy asked.
"You should get your priorities in order! This man is dangerous and -" Whatever she said next was lost to Gabriel as he concentred on clearing his thoughts and understanding what had happened. He shook his head, and tiny shards of glass fell down from his hair. He smelled like he had just taken a bath in wine. The back of his head was throbbing with sharp pain.
"I know what I'm doing. I can handle him," Timothy said. Next, Gabriel felt someone pull him up from the floor and help him back on his seat.
"Fine, but don't tell me I didn't warn you," Martina said as she threw her hands in the air and left, slamming the door shut behind her. The bang echoed painfully in Gabriel's ears.
"Let's see," Timothy said and gave the back of his head a poke. Gabriel hissed at the sting, but he was still too dazed to try to resist.
"Good news," Timothy remarked. "You don't need stitches for that. It's your lucky day because I wouldn't have been gentle."
"What?" Gabriel asked.
"Now I want you to leave my medical office and not come back until you learn to behave like a mature adult. Really, I get that you're upset, but I won't accept that kind of tantrums from my patients," Timothy said. He bent down to pick up a piece of glass from the floor. "And I'm adding this bottle to your bill, by the way."
"Like hell I'm going to pay you anything. You've been completely useless," Gabriel growled. He grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair and put it on. He grimaced at the smell of wine all over him.
"We'll talk about that more when you've calmed down. Now get out," Timothy said. He gave Gabriel a sharp push on the back and shoved him out the door. Gabriel didn't do much to resist. The blow to his head had done wonders to soothe his anger somewhat.
"Good day," Timothy said and slammed the door to his office shut behind him.
For a moment, Gabriel only stood in the waiting room, not knowing what to do or where to go. He slowly became aware of the murderous glare the doctor's assistant was sending to his direction from behind the papers she was pretending to read. He sent an equally nasty glare at her and marched out the door to the street.
He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as his fingers brushed against the bump that the crazy woman had given him. He swore he'd show her one day, but the thought lacked his usual ruthlessness. He felt tired, and forcing his legs to move was an almost impossible task.
Dr. Timothy's words were echoing in his ears. He tried to force them away, but there was nothing he could do to hide from the painful truth. His shoulder would never be alright again. He would never handle a sword like he had used to. He had always been so proud of his skills. Nothing had ever felt as good as the rush of adrenalin, the burn in his muscles and the satisfaction of knowing that nobody in the army matched him in skill. His sword had been like a second hand to him. Now he didn't even know where it was, and it didn't matter.
It was all hopeless now. Maybe he could have learnt to accept that he no longer had a future in the army, but losing his sword fighting skills was too much. His stumbled and had to lean against the wall for support, his breath caught in his throat and feeling like someone had just stabbed him. The ache in his shoulder was a good reminder of what he had lost, and now he knew it might never fade.
"Damn all this," he muttered, clenching his eyes shut against the shaking of his body. He couldn't even feel angry now, as tempting as it was to lash out against the world and blame everyone else. There just wasn't any point in that.
After a moment, he started moving again, not caring where he was going.
It was the middle of the night when Gabriel emerged – or rather, was kicked out – of a little bar in a small back alley. It wasn't that he was too drunk. He hadn't had enough money on him to even begin to drown his problems, and going back to his room at the tavern hadn't even crossed his mind. He didn't actually even know what he had been doing the whole day before going into that bar. No, the problem was that someone had recognised him, and soon everyone had decided that they didn't want to have him in the same room with them.
Gabriel picked himself up from the ground and turned to glare daggers at the door that had been closed after him. These damn peasants had no right to treat him like this. Just a week ago, they would have cowered before him and never dared to say a word against him. Now they had the courage to mock him and shove him to dirt.
He suddenly felt awfully alone. There was the sound of distant laughter a few blocks away, and a few windows still had light. The world around him didn't care one bit about him. He was sure nobody would even blink if he just wandered out of town and never came back.
Muttering profanities under his breath, he started walking down the street. He wasn't sure where he was going, but walking away felt better than remaining there in front of the bar like an idiot. After a while, he found himself in an even smaller alley. The buildings on both sides of the street looked pathetic; the walls were crooked and looked like they might collapse if he leaned against them. There wasn't any light apart from what the moon and the stars offered, but it was enough to show him how much trash there was.
Gabriel didn't usually like sarcasm, but now he couldn't help but think he had just found a place that suited him. He turned around and was about to leave, but then the sound of footsteps reached his ears. He frowned as he listened to the sound get closer. It wasn't just one person.
Just then, a man appeared from behind a corner, holding a lantern. He froze when he noticed Gabriel. "There he is!" he yelled at someone who was coming behind him. The sound of steps grew louder and hastier, and only moments later a whole group of people emerged from the shadows. There were at least a dozen of them – men and women, young and old.
"What's this? Who are you?" Gabriel asked, taking a step back, even though there was nowhere for him to go. He didn't like the stern expressions on everyone's face. The light of their lanterns made shadows dance on their features.
"We were told that you'd be here," the man who was leading the group said.
"Who told you that?" Gabriel asked, though he suspected it was probably someone from the damn bar.
The man ignored his question. "Do you recognise any of us?" he asked.
"Should I?" Gabriel couldn't see a single familiar face in the crowd, but that didn't surprise him. Most people in San Tasco were irrelevant to him.
"Last year, Commander Raymond decided to collect an extra tax. My family and I didn't have enough to pay, so you came with your men and destroyed our crops to make an example out of us. My children would have starved if my neighbours hadn't helped us," the leader of the group said.
"My son was arrested and nearly executed because you thought he was a rebel!" another man added, and soon enough everyone in the crowd was listing their ordeals.
"When I had a good year and my fields gave me more fruit than usual, the army stole all of it!"
"Why didn't you pay for the damage when your soldiers shot at my cattle?"
"The army forced me off the land my family had owned for generations!"
Gabriel listened to the accusations with growing dread. Some of the things the people were listing weren't even his fault, but he knew what it was like when you were too angry to care who was guilty. All that mattered was the grim satisfaction of blaming someone. It didn't change anything for the better, but it made you feel good.
"What's this?" he asked. Did these idiots think he cared?
A young woman made her way through the crowd and stopped to stand before him. Her face was twisted in anguish, and she was glaring at him with accusing eyes.
"And what about me?" she asked.
"I don't even know who you are," Gabriel replied.
The look in the woman's eyes grew even more desperate. "My husband couldn't pay his taxes fast enough, so you decided to take away our horse. He was a peddler, and that would have ruined him, so he tried to stop you. And then you ordered your men to shoot him! My husband is dead because of you!"
Gabriel tried to remember such an incident, but there was nothing familiar about the woman's features or the story she was telling. He didn't doubt her, though. Such things happened often, and these people mattered so little to him that he had never bothered to think twice about the men he ordered shot or arrested.
"What do I care?" he asked, glaring at her in irritation. The look on her face made him want to squirm. He didn't care one bit about her dead husband, but there was something unsettling about the woman's agony.
"Who's going to take care of me and my baby?" the woman wailed. "I have nobody now!" Her words turned into a broken-hearted sob, and someone from the crowd came to support her. He let her lean against his chest and led her away, but all the others were staring at Gabriel with even more venom.
"What do you want?" Gabriel asked. He was starting to feel a little claustrophobic with all these people. He glanced behind his shoulder, but the wall there hadn't magically disappeared.
"You've hurt so many people in San Tasco. You never had any sympathy for us or our problems," the man leading the group said in a dark tone.
"I always had direct orders from -"
"The purpose of the army is to protect and help the people! You've just exploited us! But now that you've been abandoned by your own, we no longer have to just stand back and watch. We can make you pay for all the crimes you've committed," the man continued.
"You can't be serious," Gabriel said, moving his eyes from one person to another, but everybody looked so grim and determined that it sent a chill down his spine.
"The uniform won't protect you anymore." The man lifted his lantern and gestured for someone behind him. Several men stepped forward and grabbed Gabriel by his arms, holding him still.
"Hey, let go of me!" he snapped and struggled to get free, but he was no match for three men at the same time. Feeling his heart thump in his chest, he turned to glare at the rest of the group in fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"We're carrying out justice," the man replied. He slipped his hand inside his shirt and pulled out a pistol.
"You can't be serious! You have no right to do this!" Gabriel snapped. His struggling grew more frantic, but the hands holding him wouldn't budge. He kept his eyes locked on the gun in the man's hand. It was suddenly very difficult to breathe.
"How many times has the army executed someone without a trial?" one of the men holding him asked.
"You'll never get away with this," Gabriel warned them, hoping that he could scare the people into letting him go. "Just because I'm no longer in the army doesn't mean you can just kill me! You'll all be found and arrested."
The man with the pistol chuckled. "As a former lieutenant, I'd expect you to be more familiar with the army's methods. You should know that the army doesn't care about anything that happens to civilians."
"Damn you," Gabriel growled. He found he couldn't tear his eyes from the pistol even when the mere sight of it made his breath get caught in his throat. His chest was aching, and he was certain that if not for the men holding him still, he would be trembling. All of his earlier thoughts about how his life had come to its end seemed ridiculous now. He didn't want to die like this, no matter how bad things were.
He was thrown to the ground. As he tried to get up, one of the men who had been holding him gave him a sharp kick to his side. The impact sent him back to the ground and was quickly followed by more. He could only cough and gasp for breath as the hits forced the air out of his lungs. He tried to crawl away and avoid the attacks just for long enough to get up and escape, but the people had him surrounded. Were they going to kill him like this and not shoot him after all? How long would it take?
When the attacks suddenly stopped, he was surprised to realise that it brought him no relief. The abrupt end made him more aware of the burn all over him, and he couldn't hold back a groan as he straightened his aching body. His sides hurt like hell, but he didn't think he had any cracked ribs.
He blinked as he turned to look up at the people to see why they had stopped. He didn't have to wonder about that for long when the leader of the group stepped forward. Moonlight was momentarily reflected in his pistol as the man pointed it at Gabriel.
No. They couldn't. He didn't want to.
"You can't -" he started to plead, but there was a sudden loud snap, and the pistol disappeared from the man's hands like it had never been there.
"What?" the man asked, staring at his empty hand in confusion.
"Gabriel may be wrong about many things, but this time he speaks the truth. You don't have the right to do this," came a voice from somewhere above them. Everyone turned to look up at the rooftops. Gabriel recognised the voice at once, but he was still surprised to see the dark figure against the night sky.
"Zorro!"
"Of course we have the right to do this. You of all people should know what he has done," the group's leader said. He turned to face Zorro with a defensive gleam in his eyes, but the hatred on everyone else's faces had been replaced by the shock of having their hero interrupt their actions.
"I know he has done terrible things that can never be undone, but that doesn't give anyone the right to execute him like this without a fair trial," Zorro said. "You wouldn't be any better than him if you did that."
"So what?" someone from the crowd asked. "I don't care about that! I want to see him suffer for what he has done!"
"Me, too! He deserves to die!"
"If he were in our place, he would never show mercy!"
For a moment, it looked like the people's words had startled Zorro into silence. Despite that it was his life on the line, Gabriel couldn't help but be amused at the masked bandit's confusion. Zorro was always so high and mighty and talked of justice. Either he had the patience of a saint or he had never been personally hurt by the army's actions. He was clearly unfamiliar with how good the burn of revenge could feel like when your heart had been torn open.
"Yes, he does deserve this," Zorro finally said. "But none of you don't. You're good people, and you shouldn't have anyone's blood on your hands. Revenge might feel good now, but that satisfaction will always turn into pain. You will be condemning yourselves to a lifetime of doubts and guilt if you kill him."
"Then what would you have us do?" the woman whose husband had been shot asked.
"For the time being, nothing," Zorro said. As the people started to protest, he continued, "He will not go without a punishment. He has already lost much, and his actions will be brought before justice in due time. One day, you will see him stand before the governor general and receive what he deserves."
"I think Zorro is right," someone from the crowd said. "I don't want to go home to my children and tell them that their father is a murderer."
"But how long do we have to wait? We've been suffering for years."
"Yes, what if he leaves San Tasco and never has to take the responsibility for his actions?"
"I'm sure Zorro will hunt him down if that happens."
Gabriel saw how some of the people started taking hesitant steps away from him, but he didn't care about them. He never once moved his eyes from Zorro who was still standing on the roof, his cape flowing slightly in the mild wind.
The leader of the group was silent for a long time, but then he put his pistol back under his shirt. "I disagree. I think we should kill him now that we have the chance, but if the rest of you want to listen to Zorro, I won't argue with you."
Next, he turned to face Gabriel. "But don't think you'll get away with what you've done," he said, but Gabriel barely heard it. He didn't turn to look at the people even when they started to leave.
"It seems like I arrived just in time," Zorro remarked once they were alone.
"What are you doing here?" Gabriel asked, staring up at the rebel and clenching his fists. His heart was beating even harder now than when he had thought he was going to die; the hatred that was boiling in him made his head feel light and soothed the pain he had just endured.
"I knew something like this might happen, so I was keeping an eye on you."
"You were watching me? What makes you think you have the right to do that?" Gabriel yelled, balking at the nerve of this man. He couldn't see Zorro's face in the dark, but he could imagine the calm and self-justified expression on his face. It infuriated him more than any smirk could have.
"I had to make sure you wouldn't hurt anyone, and I was worried for your life. Your actions have brought you many enemies in San Tasco," Zorro replied.
"I don't need you to protect me!" Gabriel snapped. He realised only now that if Zorro hadn't appeared, someone would have found his body in a pool of blood in the morning. Even worse than the chill of his death was the humiliation of knowing that Zorro had saved his life.
"This is all your fault in the first place! You did this to me!" he continued. That bastard probably thought he was being so noble when he saved an enemy, but Gabriel wouldn't fall for that. He knew Zorro had done everything on purpose.
"What happened was an accident," Zorro said.
"Shut up! It's your fault that my shoulder will never heal! You wanted this to happen!" Gabriel yelled. His voice grew louder and more strained with every word that left his mouth until he was shrieking, but he didn't care.
"I assure you, I didn't -"
"Fight me! I challenge you to a duel! Give me a sword!"
"Don't be foolish. That would serve no point."
"I can still defeat you! Get down here!" Gabriel screamed. He no longer even heard what he was saying. All he knew was the desperate ache in his chest, his need to show to everyone that he could still handle a sword and was still a match for Zorro.
He saw Zorro shake his head. "It would be a waste of time for both of us, and I don't want to hurt you."
The words were like a blade through Gabriel's chest. Zorro was refusing his challenge? He thought Gabriel could no longer hold his own against him, that he was no longer a worthy opponent. He was too appalled by the realisation to even say anything.
Zorro walked to the edge of the rooftop where he was standing. "I will be keeping an eye on you to make sure you won't try to hurt anyone and that you will brought to justice for everything you have done. There will be a day when Raymond will fall, and then the crimes of you both will be brought to light," he said. With that, he jumped to the roof of the opposite building and ran across it to the next one.
"Hey! Come back!" Gabriel yelled, but the sound of Zorro's footsteps growing more and more distant told him that the rebel didn't even stop. He was left alone in the dark alleyway, trembling in fury and humiliation. He was breathing in heavy gasps as he stared at the spot where Zorro had been.
That damn bastard. He had ruined his life, and now he had the nerve to dismiss him like that. Gabriel wouldn't accept that. He swallowed and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling like his head was clear for the first time in days. He no longer had a future in the army. He no longer had any authority over these people. He could no longer handle a sword like was fit for a man like him. But there was one thing nobody, not Zorro or Raymond, could ever take from him – the hatred he felt for both men.
Zorro and Raymond had ruined his life, but it didn't have to end there. Not doing anything would have only ensured their victory. He wouldn't stand for that. Somehow, he'd get his life back in order. He'd become something, and he would show everyone that he didn't need the army or a sword to be important. And then he would have his revenge.
"Zorro! We'll see who'll be the one to face justice! One day you'll have to fight me again, and that will be the day when I kill you!" he bellowed. He knew Zorro was long gone, but yelling his words over the silent rooftops filled him with a scorching passion that made him feel like he could do anything in the world.