Currency of Souls

Maybe I’ll suggest that once the gun’s been lowered.

“Yeah, that is so,” he says in response to Hill. The gun trembles in his grasp. I’m not yet at the point where I’m doubting my earlier opinion on whether my son will ever shoot a man again, but I’m not confident. What I am, however, is damn proud.

“Let me ask you something, Kyle. What exactly do you think shooting me will accomplish? Do you think I’ll just drop like a rock? Like all these other weaklings? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the landlord here. Everyone answers to me, just as there are higher forces I answer to when the work has been done. When their penance has been done. And you, boy, have a lot of making up to do.”

“And when is the penance done, huh? How many corpses amount to penance in your eyes? Ten, twenty, a hundred?”

“You’ll know when it’s done.”

“Right,” Kyle tells him. “When you’ve had your fill, maybe, you sick fuck.”

The Reverend sighs. “Is it your intention to see how much suffering you can bring upon yourself? Pull that trigger then and we’ll all see just how—”

Without warning, Kyle does as he is asked. The Reverend stands where he is for a moment, then topples. The echo of the gunshot rivals the rage of the storm and the sound of blood dripping could be the rain tapping on the window. What used to be Reverend Hill’s head is now spread across the wall next to where Flo is standing, spattered in his blood. She doesn’t seem at all put out, merely inconvenienced. Her eyes, white periods in a gore- smeared face, widen. “There’s no way it can be that easy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “He’s down, and that’s the end of it.”

And yet no one moves. Instead we watch Hill’s corpse warily, waiting for some sign of the power that has kept us bound for years. We half-expect the brains splashed across the wall to fly back into the man’s ruined skull, the blood to return to the cavity Kyle’s bullet burst open, the wound to heal. We wait for the Reverend to rise, murderous rage contorting his sallow face as he chooses which of us to destroy first. We wait. We watch.

But what happens is infinitely more surprising.

Nothing.

The all-powerful Reverend just lies there, minus most of his head, and deader than dog shit.

“I’ve never in all my years seen so much blood,” Gracie says, and it sounds like a comment that should be followed by tears. But this is Gracie, and I’m willing to put money down that she’s already stressing over the cleanup. “Guess he was just a man after all.”

“I want to go home,” the girl on the bar says, and that pulls us from our trance-like state of expectancy.

“We’ll get you there, honey.” Flo’s hands tremble as she sleeves some of the priest’s blood from her face.

“It’s gonna be all right babe,” Brody soothes, though he’s in too much pain to sound sincere. “We’ll be out of here soon, then it’ll just be you, me and Dino.”

Kyle is still holding the gun out, still pressing it against the ghost of Hill’s temple, and I put a hand on his forearm, urge him to lower it before it goes off and adds someone else to the rapidly rising number of dead. For a moment he resists, then the tension ebbs away.

“It’s okay son.”

“Kyle,” he mutters.

“What?”

“You don’t get to call me ‘son’.”

“Okay.”

Wintry is still tending to Cobb. The old man has downed half a bottle of whiskey. I’m sure wherever his mind is, it doesn’t know what just happened, and maybe that’s for the best. Wintry locks gazes with me and in that brief glance, we’re like two old farts trading war stories. What’s happened here tonight won’t ever be forgotten, no more than will the things that led us here, the errors in judgment, the wrong turns, the simple little mistakes that all add up to an express elevator ride right into a nightmare no amount of waking up can cure. But this is a lull, and a welcome one, and I figure everyone (except maybe Brody and the girl) is going to savor it before the next unwelcome development. For however briefly, this is Eddie’s bar, the only functioning water hole in a near-dead town, and right now, for the first time ever, these people truly are my friends.

Wintry goes back to silently consoling the inconsolable Cobb. Gracie heads into the ladies room and emerges with a mop and bucket that are filthier than the floor but don’t, to my knowledge, have human remains on them. Flo tries to get the girl to stand up. It isn’t going to happen.

“We need to take him too,” I tell Kyle with a nod in Brody’s direction.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Yeah,” Brody adds. “Why? If it’s because you shot a perfectly nice guy like me, and don’t know how to apologize…hell…that’s all water under the bridge.” He grins and there is blood on his teeth. “I don’t hold grudges.”

“He’s a murderer,” Kyle says.

I lean in close. “For fuck sake, Kyle. Everyone here is a murderer.”

“Not like him we’re not. He enjoyed it. Did it on purpose.”

His logic makes my head swim, and the only thing I’m really sure of is that I don’t agree with it. “Listen, you have to—”

“Leave him,” Cobb says dreamily, as if our banter has woken him from a doze.

Everyone looks in his direction. He, however, does not look at us.

“Cobb…”

“Leave him. I’ll take care of him.”

I can’t be blamed for taking that like it sounds. Sure, Cobb can heal folks, but considering we’re talking about the man who just killed his wife, I don’t imagine healing has anything to do with it.

“Take care of him how?”

“Fix him up, Sheriff. What else?” His eyes are swollen from crying, his face almost as pale as Brody’s.

“Any number of things,” I reply. “He can die on his own if that’s what you’re figuring to help him with.”

“I said I’ll fix him up. Weren’t like he killed Ellie on purpose.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No. I don’t.” He takes another slug of whiskey. “But why are we here?”

I don’t know how to answer that. Seems no one does. But for the low whimpering of the girl, the room’s awful quiet.

“We come here to try to make peace when there ain’t none to be had. We come here to be forgiven. Way I figure it, Sheriff, is if I don’t do what every ounce of me wants to do to this kid, and instead I fix him up, like I want to be fixed up myself, like I can never be fixed up, then maybe it’ll count for somethin’ in this great goddamn plan we’re all so fuckin’ tangled up in. What do you think?”

I consider that for a moment because it’s worth considering. Then: “I think you may be onto something,” I tell him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I look at the girl. “What about her?”

“Nothing I can do for her. Maybe Hendricks can pull a miracle out of his hat, but not me.” He glances down at Brody. “She’s too far gone.”

Brody sighs shakily, tries to stand and fails. Although Cobb has agreed to help the kid, I figure we’ve just seen his revenge. Telling the kid his girl is going to die is about the only weapon he has left to use, I guess. Hurt him as much as possible before he heals him.

“All right.”

Cobb nods, and goes back to his drink. “Don’t leave Ellie out there on the road, Tom. She deserves better.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“You’re leaving me here with him?” Brody asks, appalled.

“It’s the one good option in a dump truck full of bad ones,” I remind him. “Take it or leave it.”