The Reckoner: Highwaymen, Part 3

The difference that morning, he didn’t want to throw the quilt off of him.  Almost indifferent to how bad the dream was, Aiken enjoyed the relaxation that came from laying in the bed.  And with the realization of that thought he was wide awake.  For him, it was uncomfortable being that comfortable.  He hurried out of the bed, put his clothes on, tightened the holster around his hip and tied it around his thigh, grabbed his coat and hat, and left the saloon.
In the early morning light, there weren’t many people that crossed his path.  The few that did though, they didn’t have that look in their eyes that he was expecting, that he had seen for so many years.  Most had a careless indifference, some though, took the time to tip their hat to him as they passed by, none had that fearful admiration that caused them to take an extra step or two around him.  Aiken naturally slowed down the pace he was taking down the road.  The discomfort from the bed slowly faded away with each step down the dusty road. 
As the morning sun slowly climbed its way higher the streets slowly filled with more and more people.  Aiken, for the first time in his life, just let the flow of people take him.  He watched every person that he could.  Some still had that look, reminding him that he would always be an outcast and a wanderer.  But they were far and few between.  The vast majority didn’t give him another look, except for maybe one or two that he caught taking another look at the iron on his hip.  And there were the few that nodded to him, those he remembered from the Oriental.
He followed the flow and found himself in front of the bank branch, looking up at his partner who’s smile made him smile.
Every morning for the next couple of weeks or so was the same.  The only difference, the discomfort from the bed slowly faded to a small knot that couldn’t be worked out. 
Aiken found himself smiling more when he was around Virgil, Martin, and Mary.  The three had welcomed Aiken into their family circle with open arms.  The three that never looked at Aiken differently for who he was, and had stretched forth their arms because of who he was, it was as close to a family that Aiken had for too many years to remember.  Most of the time he spent the evenings with them at Martin and Mary’s, but there were the occasional nights when they would go together to The Oriental. 
Those were the nights that Aiken was most afraid to return to his room.  When he was with his friends he lost some bets at the faro table but he also won a few.  The loses didn’t seem to hurt as much as they did before and the wins felt so much better.  And then they would have to leave and he would return to his room.  It was those nights that the dream would play itself out to completion.  Those mornings he shook his head and thought to himself how he needed to get moving.  But those mornings he still found himself following the flow that carried him to the bank and the stagecoach.
The rides along the coach line were uneventful.  People came and went from town to town and all made it to their destination without any trouble.  Aiken would sit and watch the dusty road disappear time and time again, he had learned every turn and dip that the road made and too often he found himself staring out at the sagebrush that they passed lost in his own thoughts.  Virgil would ask questions and Aiken answered more than he wanted.  Sometimes Aiken found himself participating more and more, even asking his own questions to keep the conversation going.
“What do you think about redemption?”  Aiken nervously asked on one of those occasions.
Virgil watched the road for a minute before answering, the smile on his face slightly shrinking as he thought about his answer, “I….”
Aiken didn’t hear the rest of the answer.   Suddenly he felt it.  It had snuck up on him and caught him unaware.  Every fear he had came flooding on him at that moment as he tried to separate everything that the unspoken world tried to scream at him at that particular moment.  The world slowed down for an instant.  He felt the cold air wrap its fingers around him, he smelt the dry dust of the road as the stagecoach drove over it, and from the corner of his eye he saw a rider following the stage from the over the crest of a hill in the distance.
“Damn.”  He snarled through gritted teeth.  How could he have allowed it to happen?
His hand fell to his holster and like an old lover, everything came rushing back to him.  Every sign that had told him to hold back, every tell along the road that hinted that there was going to be trouble.  And all Aiken could do was shake his head and hope as he pulled the rifle from off his hip.
“Run them!”  He yelled, he saw fear take over his partner.  He didn’t know if his face hinted at the danger that laid ahead, but in the few gunfights that they had been in, Virgil never had that look in his eyes, and he never would again.
Hooves beat upon the dusty road, kicking up dust and creating a cloud around the coach.  He had used it before to get the upper hand against would be bandits.  But this time, they had the upper hand and he knew it, he only hoped that they would make a mistake.  There was a curve in the road ahead that led into a dried out wash along the bank of which grew cedars.  If he could only get the coach there he’d have the upper hand.  Everything that screamed death came rushing upon him, how had he missed their signs before.
Cold air stole his breath as he watched through the dust at the shadows that kept pace with the coach.  Mixed with the dust, it choked him, he had to cough and cover his mouth with an arm to watch everything unfold before him.  Even through the dust he could see that the shadows had grown longer in the few seconds that his senses returned, as if they wanted to hide their own corruption from view.  He felt the darkness of death flood through his veins, leaving him cold and yet every nerve felt ablaze, ready to fire when the time would come.
He counted eight shadows in total.  He could also see the road begin to follow the wash and line of cedars, the bend in the road wasn’t too far ahead.  “Keep on!”  He yelled to Virgil through his shirt sleeve.  Virgil whipped at the reins and the horses continued their rush down the road.
Aiken watched as the shadows outside the dust slowed down as the horses took the bend too fast.  He fired a shot and one shadow fell from his horse.  He levered the action of the rifle and chambered a new round.  The sound of returned fire echoed through the desert, it wasn’t one shot returned, it more and more.
The lead horse was hit in the leg by one shot and immediately stumbled.  Every horse hitched to her stumbled and caught themselves in the rigging that tied them altogether.  The stagecoach didn’t want to stop in the turn though.  It first lurched to two wheels and then lost the unstable foundation that they even offered.  The coach crashed to its side, throwing Aiken and Virgil from the driver’s box and boot.  It slid through the dirt and sand, smashing itself into one of the cedars along the wash.
Aiken got to his feet, thankful that nothing was broken and he’d just have another bruise or two when all was said and done.  Virgil was doing the same, Aiken could see, but only slower.  He ran to shattered pile of wood that somewhat still resembled the coach.  He pounded at the wood and yelled, “Get down and stay down!”  From the front boot he grabbed the double barrel shotgun that he was now glad that Virgil had kept on the coach.  Grabbing Virgil, who had just made it to his feet, by the arm, he forced him to run to the other side of the wash and hide as best as he could amid the cedars.
“Take this, the first good chance you get, you fill him with shot.”  He said as he forced the shotgun into his partner’s hands.
“I’ve never even thought of shooting a man before.”  Virgil tried to make sense of what was happening.
Aiken grabbed Virgil by his shirt and yelled, “Stop thinking about it and when you get the chance, do it.”
Aiken turned around just in time to see the dust settle and the first highwayman make the turn.  He held his gun tight against his hip, the cool metal trigger wanting to fall under his fingers.  He waited, knowing that the bandits didn’t know what had happened in the accident and he wanted to get the best chance that he could.  There was the second rider and the chance he had waited for.
The trigger fell, along with the second rider that had come into view.  In the blink of an eye, Aiken cocked the lever of his rifle and fired again.  The first rider also fell from his horse, his hand releasing the pistol that he had just drawn from his own holster.  Aiken knew that they were given away with those two shots, but it was probably the best opportunity he was going to have that day.  He ran to the other side of the cedars and ran back up the wash a bit, hopefully doubling back on the remaining brigands.
Cautiously scuttling through the cedars, he looked down the wash.  There was the heaped stagecoach, another bandit being as cautious as he was as he made his way around the broken coach.  The renegade fell back in a crash of blood as the sound of the fired shotgun echoed up the wash.  Aiken knew he had to hurry, Virgil only had one shot left in the scattergun. 
Not seeing anyone, he scurried to the other side of the wash and peered through the cedars.  There were three bandits that he could see, where was the fourth?  He knew that he had counted eight in total.  The worst feeling that he had ever had was losing track of someone.
He felt the cedar explode next to his body, small pieces of wood pelting his body, at the same time he heard the shot.  There was the fourth!  Aiken retreated behind the cedars.  Never turning around he made his way back across the wash.  The fourth highwayman slowly made his way up to the cedars but waited.  He peered through, Aiken thought, making eye contact with him.  Another two were quickly at his side.  It could have only been a moment, but it felt like a small eternity as the three waited on the other side of the wash and cedars, never giving Aiken a good shot.
He had taken worse shots however.  It was awkward but he knew what he would have to do to get the shot off.  He lifted the gun from his hip and held it in front of his face, far enough that with any kick it wouldn’t hit his face.  He lined up the rear sight with the front, and found where he knew that a body stood on the other side of the cedar branches.  Pulling the trigger, he saw through the thicket a shadow fall to the ground.
Three, he thought.
The original set of boots ran from his sight.  He hid behind the cedars, trying to think like his prey.  Peering back, around the cedar, he saw the highwayman that was still pursuing him peering through the branches of the cedars, trying to make his way into the wash but afraid to be that exposed.
From the direction of the coach he heard the shotgun again.  “NO!” he yelled as he scrambled out of the cedars and into the wash.  He was right, he saw one bandit fall to the ground but there was another with his pistol raised.  Aiken fired his rifle at the one still trying to figure out how to hide in the cedars.  Not even caring to watch the shot hit he turned just in time to see the shot fired from the pistol.
Aiken fell to his knees in the sand of the wash.  His rifle falling from his grasp, he felt as each finger lost control and could no longer hold onto the iron.  Time slowed down as he watched the renegade fire another shot, and then another, and then another.  All three fired into the coach.  The fire in his belly had been quenched and he felt hollow yet again.

The Reckoner: Highwaymen, Part 2

The rest of the ride into Santa Fe was uneventful and fairly quiet.  Virgil tried to make a joke or strike a conversation and Aiken shakily participated as much as he could.  They pulled up in front of the bank, Virgil helped the passengers out of the coach and pointed them in the direction of potential lodgings and Aiken emptied the strongbox and handed it down to one of the nameless bank tellers.  Virgil knew his name, but Aiken didn’t care as he handed the cash, gold, and silver down. 
“Let’s get this to Martin’s and then I’ll buy you a whiskey at The Oriental.”  Virgil had rid himself of the crutch by then but still walked with a slight limp, a limp he walked with for the rest of his life.
It was an offer that had been made every time they unloaded in Santa Fe.  For the first time, Aiken gave in to the proposition.  They unhitched the horses and stabled them in the barn, “Let’s see if Martin and Mary want to go.”  Virgil detoured into the house.
He came out with his brother in law and little sister.  “Aiken, how are you?”  Martin asked.
All Aiken could do was nod.  He felt so conflicted at that very moment, he wanted to say that he was doing fine and yet he didn’t know what fine felt like, he was afraid of what fine felt like.  He was afraid of feeling anything because he knew that he wouldn’t feel anything when it was important.  Aiken nodded again.
“Let’s go.”  Virgil grabbed his sister around the waist and hurried her along in front of him.
They walked to The Oriental, three plus one.  Aiken walking along, belonging and not wanting to belong.  The lights in the saloon were burning brightly and the windows were just beginning to show the slightest sign of fog building along their edges as the day began to cool into night.  It was warm and inviting against the cold night that was quickly descending upon Santa Fe.  The four of them walked into the saloon and found a table that was empty.  Along the bar, people milled and joked together, it was difficult for Virgil to make his way through to get a shot of whiskey for himself and partner.  Every faro table was flanked by people waiting to see the next card flipped, not carrying what fortunes they lost or won.
Aiken sat outside all of that, he watched and he listened.  He strained to separate the dissonance into its several parts and make sense of what was being said underneath it all.  It usually came natural for him and yet he had to work at it, he found himself somehow getting lost in that chaos.
“Here.”  Virgil put the shot glass down on the table and then sat down himself.
“Where’s mine?”  Martin asked.
“Did your husband do something to his legs that make it difficult for him to do things for himself?”  Virgil asked his sister.
Mary laughed and told Martin to get his own if he wanted one.  The light shown through her soft, brown hair as she tilted her head back and laughed.  Its long, straight strands fell upon her shoulders as she turned her head and smiled.  Her blue eyes glittered as they met Aiken’s and for the first time it was he who had to quickly change his gaze.  He shook his head and threw back the shot sitting in front of him.  The burning in his throat helped clear his mind.  He stood up from the table and worked his way through the crowded floor to the nearest faro table.
He put his mark down on the five card.  He waited for the dealer to flip the cards and expected to lose.  The dealer called for bets and then put his hand on the dealers box, waiting for the last bets to be placed before he exposed the first card.  He pulled away the last card and the box revealed the five of hearts.  Aiken knew that he was going to lose and wondered why he had placed the bet.  Somethings never change he told himself.  He pulled a nickel from his pocket and flipped it on the table as he took his mark off.
He turned around to go back, to go back to his room and forget the day.  Virgil, Martin, and Mary were behind him, stopping him from leaving the table.
“Play another one!”  Mary smiled at Aiken as she pushed passed him and placed a mark on the high card.
Virgil and Martin also placed their marks on the table.  Mary looked at Aiken and waited for him to put his mark on the table.  “Maybe he’s out of money, Martin, give him another nickel.”  She joked and pulled him towards the table.
He shook his head, wanting to get away from the table and yet finding himself getting lost in the dissonance.  He put a mark on the five card again.
“Nothing like trying something new, huh?”  Virgil joked.
Mary hit her brother in the side of his gut as she pushed herself into her husband, laughing.
They watched as the dealer exposed the banker’s card, a six, and the player’s card, a jack.  Mary jumped and laughed when the jack was revealed, “I always play the high card.”  And she held her hand out waiting for her nickel from the dealer.
Martin, Virgil, and Aiken waited for the next turn of cards.  On the next turn, the banker’s card was a queen and the player’s card was a two.  “Damn,” Virgil and Mary exasperated together.  The word itself carried so little weight that it was somewhat comical to hear the words fall from their lips.  They then smiled at each other, laughed and paid the bank.  Mary left her mark on the high card but put a penny on top of it, Virgil moved his from the two to the high card.  The dealer then exposed the next two cards, first a ten and then a five.
Virgil and Martin both let out a groan and Mary squealed.  She jumped up and hugged Aiken quickly before turning around and collecting both of their money from the banker.  She then laughed and tried to make a spectacle of the fact that Virgil and Martin both lost and she and Aiken won.
Aiken held the nickel in his hand.  It was the first card that had won.  He stepped back from the faro table and returned to the table where the empty glasses were left.  He fell into the dissonance and let it soak him in.  He waited for the three to return to the table, Mary and Martin holding each other and Virgil walking behind.  All of them had the same smile as they walked and sat around the table.  Aiken found himself smiling as they sat around him.  For the first time in his life he forgot.

He sat for a long time, soaking in everything before he was awakened to reality.
“Well, we better be getting home.”  Martin stood up with his wife’s hand in his.
“I better do the same,” Virgil stood up as well, “We’ll see you in the morning Aiken.”
Aiken stood to see the three off.  He then walked up the stairs and to his room, leaving the dying din of the barroom behind him.  His room was cold, he had left the window open that particular day.  He turned up the wick in the lamp in the room to give him more light and he closed the window.  He threw his hat and duster on the table next to the wash basin and pitcher of fresh water.  Taking the pitcher, he poured some water in the washbasin and then ran his hands through the water.  It was cold, refreshing to his touch.  Cupping the water, he splashed it on his face, even though he knew it was cold, it was shocking as it hit his face.  He watched as the dirt and grime rinsed off of his face and into the water below him. 
He stood up and looked around him.  The bed was made, as it was every evening when he got back.  This time was different though, the bed looked inviting, it looked warm in the cold, crisp air of his room.  He sat down on it.  It was firm and the quilt on top was cool to his touch.  It had been years since the last time he had sat down on a bed for anything more than a chair.  It was familiar and yet so distant.  He laid down on the quilt and let his body relax into the bed.  Every muscle in his body relaxed as he took a deep breath in.  He didn’t know how long he laid there, but the din from the saloon had completely died by the time he undressed and found himself beneath the quilt and the bed.
Regardless, the bed didn’t help him sleep.  The only assurance that he got any sleep was the same dream, replaying in his mind every night.  The lack of sleep had been his cross to bear for years and had become something that he never thought about again.  There was plenty of time for sleep, he never knew when it would come, but he knew that it would.

The Reckoner: Highwaymen, Part 1

The rainstorm had died down quickly through the night.  Aiken put on his shirt and pants, strapped the holster to his hip, and grabbed his duster and hat from the table.  It was still the early morning when he walked out of the saloon.  There was just enough chill in the air that his breath could be seen as it rose from his lips.  Even though the rain had quit early in the night, the mud still stuck to his boots as he walked down the middle of the street.  Very few people were on the streets with him and each gave him an extra step as they passed him by.
The stories of the ride from Albuquerque must have spread.  He could see it in their eyes as they quickly glanced away as he looked at them.  Their looks were mingled fear and admiration, he was a killer in their eyes, nothing more and nothing less.  They wanted to smell death following after him and like any thought that’s allowed to fester, they forced it into reality.  Every man fears the deathbringer and every man desires to be him, they want to play at God-choosing who dies and who lives.  Aiken shook his head as he passed each one.  He never chose who would die or who would live, he just happened to be in the unlucky place when that judgement was made against them.  But no one could understand that and he allowed as much space between him and them as they desired.
Even though he was up early, Virgil was already at the Martin Livisten’s with the stagecoach.  He smiled as he rested against the crutch that had been formed from a fairly straight branch.  Virgil didn’t have that look in his eyes, just that same smile as he saw Aiken walk up.
“Early mornin, ain’t it?  We aren’t scheduled to leave for another hour.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”  Aiken shrugged, but somehow relieved that he could tell someone, “And what was I going to do, lose another nickel at the faro table.”
“Well,” a voice from behind the stage rose, “if you’re going to be here then you’re going to help.  Since Virgil got out of it.”  A skinny man, a little younger than Virgil, came around the coach.  His smile was almost identical to Virgil’s.
“Aiken, I’d like to introduce you to Martin Livisten, the only louse good enough to marry my little sister!”  Virgil clapped Morgan on the shoulder.
Aiken looked at the two men standing next to each other and nodded his hat to the younger one. 
“We need to get this wheel on and then she’ll be finished.”  Martin motioned for Aiken to follow him around the coach.
Together, the two of them got the wheel back on.  In all honesty it was a one man job and four hands made it more difficult than it needed to be.  But Martin insisted that he needed the help and Virgil laughed as he watched the two juggle the wheel.  It wasn’t overly difficult, but Aiken figured to complete the job one way and Martin was fit to do it the way he had done for years.  And if it had been anyone else, Aiken would have walked away and never turned back but for the first time he found his faults endearing to himself.
“Alright,”  Virgil started as soon as the wheel was locked on the axle, “we need to get to the bank with this before Mr. Young comes looking for us.  Aiken, why don’t you climb up to the seat and help me up, Virgil, will you hitch the horses.”
Aiken extended his hand down and took the crutch from Virgil.  He then extended it down and put it under the driver’s arm as he hopped up the small ladder to the seat.  In the meantime Martin had the horses hitched to the coach and they were ready to be off.
“You know, if you come back in any worse shape than you did last night, Mary isn’t going to allow you to drive no more.”  Martin used his hand to shield the sun as he looked up at Virgil.
“You remind my little sister who the big brother is between us, will ya?”  Virgil whipped the reins and the horses pulled away.  His smile matched that of his brother in law as they waved to one another.
Sitting high on the coach and allowing the sun to stretch over him, his muscles began to warm.  Mr. Young was standing outside of the bank along with their two passengers.
“I didn’t expect them to be there.”  Virgil stated.
“Ah, look at the stage,” Mr. Young’s sleazy smile had returned, “That Martin knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this was a brand new stagecoach.”  He turned to the businessmen at his side, “Here, let me get the door for you.  I hope that your ride is smoother than yesterdays.”  His smile disappeared as he shot a look at Aiken, “Won’t it boys?”
“Yes sir!”  Virgil stepped in as Aiken’s muscles began to tighten in his shoulders and neck.
And it was.  The vast majority of rides that Aiken sat on would end with happy passengers leaving the coach for other adventurers, never knowing the dangers that lurked along the highway between towns.  But there were some that ended with passengers ready to be off as soon as the coach arrived in town.  They never lost a passenger to a missed shot and never once lost the strongbox.  Aiken never missed a shot when lead flew.
Stories lingered in the towns he had left behind, in some Aiken was either a devil or a god and in most he was both.  He knew why he left and never stayed.  It was those looks, it was the misunderstanding, it was his past that pushed him to keep running.  And he wanted to.  He wanted to push past everything and everybody, get back to just him.  But there was something keeping him on that stagecoach.
“I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while, what’s the story with your gun?”  Virgil asked him one day, “I’ve never seen anything like that before and I probably never will again.”
Aiken pulled the iron from its holster and turned it over and back again in his hands.  Every single life that had been ended by it was worn in his heart, it wasn’t a burdensome weight, just a weight that he would never shake, a weight he never wanted to shake.  Except for that first.  He shook his head and pulled himself out of that dream.
“I’ve had this for a long time, brand new from the factory when I was a kid.  It’s the only thing I know.”  Aiken was surprised by his own candidness, “I was in a gunfight, so many gunfights ago, and the barrel filled up with mud.  I don’t know how I lived through that fight because pulling the trigger was the last thing I remember.  I cut off the part of the barrel that burst and carried the rifle with me for a long time just like that.  I lost the stock hiding behind a tree, it was shot and splintered as it was torn from my hands.  I tried talking myself into putting it up and purchasing something else, something like one of those peacemakers. 
“But it never felt right.”  He stopped himself, not sure if he should continue.  He looked from the gun in his hands to the man sitting at his side.  Virgil just smiled as he watched the horses pound down the highway, not a hint of judgement behind his eyes.  “When you take a life, that life becomes part of you, it buries itself in you and you never forget.  You should never forget.  And this is what I did that with.  This is what I dealt that judgement out with.  If I put this up and choose some new, faster gun I become nothing more than a gun for hire, nothing more than some highwayman on the road who kills for gain and even more perverse, for pleasure.
“I’ll never get rid of this, I’ll carry each and every reckoning with me for life and into the eternities.  I will have that ledger when I stand before the Last Judge.  I can’t cast it aside anymore than I can those deaths.  With the exception of one I will hold my account balanced.  And until that one becomes reckoned I’ll carry this on my hip.”
He hesitated in returning the gun to its holster.  In that hesitation he ran his fingers over the workings carved into the leather.  He had done it often enough that it had become a habit.  Subconsciously he ran his fingers over the same spot stained a dark, deep brown from the oils from his fingertips.  The spot had been worn smooth against his touch but the words could still be read, “And his name that sat on him was Death.”
He reholstered the rifle and went back to watching the road.  He waited for something and it never arrived.  He wanted to know that it was time to move on and he couldn’t find it anywhere.  He road in that seat, and for the first time in his life was comfortable and the first time in a very long time, he was nervous.

The Reckoner: Unforgiven, Part 2

Clouds whipped through the sky, a storm was moving in and he would be lucky if he saw anything big enough to take home to his family.  Not that he needed to shoot a deer to put food on the table, no, he just wanted to shoot his brother's new rifle.
It was a Winchester '73, the barrel and receiver were case-hardened instead of the simple blued steel that was all too common and the walnut stock felt silky smooth in his grip.  His brother saved any spare dollar that he could convince his new bride to part with, it took him nearly a year but he finally had the gun sent through the post. His brother hadn't told his new wife, but he also ordered her a new gingham dress and she soon forgot about the expense of the rifle.  It didn't matter, though, that day it was Aiken's rifle and he was burning to shoot something.
Stalking through the scrub oak, he pretended that he was a scout in General Grant's army during the Civil War.  Every branch that cracked or leaf that rustled was a rebel guerrilla that needed to be stopped before they could report to General Lee.  He continued to climb further through the hills of the Idaho Territory and the sun finally broke through the clouds.
Aiken found himself in a calm that was surrounded by storm clouds, he knew that if there was a chance to see a deer before they found a place to bed down to weather out the storm was right then.  He had to stop though, the sun felt good upon his face.  As the light fell upon his face every muscle tightened as the blood rushed to his cheeks to soak in the warmth.  The gentle burn that began to spread across his brow and down into his cheeks held his attention and for a brief moment he forgot about Johnny Reb or the new rifle in his hand, it was just him and creation.
The wind picked up again.  The stormclouds raced through the sky.  Leaves rustled at first and then began to beat upon each other, a race to be the first off of each branch.  The smell of rain filled his nostrils, it wasn’t going to be long before the storm was right above him.  If he was going to see a deer hopefully it would be soon.
There was a crash in the trees above him.  Branches whipping and twigs on the ground cracking.  Aiken looked up and saw the light tan color he was hoping to see.  It was big, perhaps an elk.  He lifted the rifle to his shoulder, it felt smooth and practiced.  The stock fit into his shoulder as if the two had been molded together.  He sighted down the barrel, a natural extension of his arm as his hands held onto the forearm and straight grip of the rifle.  He focused down the sights, everything except the sights and the elk in front of him were out of focus.  The cold steel of the trigger resisted the squeeze of his finger.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bolt of lightning that was all too close for comfort and the thunder that roared through the trees knocked him back and he pulled the trigger.  “Bang!”
**********
He awoke in a cold sweat.  The purplish-green and white light lit up the window and the drapes on the window fluttered as the storm picked up outside.  Each flash of light was followed by a bang and crash as the thunder tried to keep pace.  He stood up from the floor and closed the window.  It was going to be a long day if the rain didn’t abate.  He drew in a deep breath through his nose.  He remembered that smell, refreshing and clean then old and dusty, the first memory was peace and tranquility, the next was blood and death.