Man of the Cloth
Author's Note: I wrote this one a very long time ago - hence it is pretty terrible.
Additional Author's Note: No I don’t have an excuse for my other stories, smart-ass!
Part One: Priest
The first thing we hear is a church bell chime once.
The first thing we see is the church itself.
An old Mexican style, run down building with a bell above the roof, just below a large cross. We then see the town in which it lives. A single long strip of dust and sand with old, wooden buildings on either side, each complimented by its own wooden sidewalk. The streets are deserted. Save for one old man fixing the porch of his shop.
Any outsider would just think that this is a western ghost town.
‘Forgive me father for I have sinned.’
Our attention takes us through the doors of the church as we slowly take in the dark, depressing interior of this house of God.
‘It’s been three days since my last confession.’
‘And what have been your sins?’ comes the reply
Inside the confession box a young woman can barely be seen in the dark, but we can make out her youth and beauty. The beauty in her worried eyes cannot be explained to anyone but those who have witnessed them for themselves. Her voice hint’s that she is of Latin descent. The man on the other side of the box cannot be seen.
‘I have done a terrible thing and now I fear I will not be forgiven.’
‘The Lord forgives all. He watches over us and keeps us from danger’
‘It’s not The Lord who will not forgive me. And it’s you who I need to keep me from danger.’
Gun shots are heard outside as three men approach. Their boots kicking up the dust on the street.
A voice is heard outside ‘Time’s up girl! Hope you did some real heavy praying’. Ain’t no such thing as sanctuary out here!’
‘What has happened my child?’
The girl tries not to tremble as she speaks ‘I owe the men at the Waterbuck Hotel money. Drug money, money I do not have. They are going to kill me’
After a long, silent pause in which only the trembling of the distressed girl can be heard. The grid separating the two opens and a hand passes an amount of money to the girl.
The man's voice replies ‘Give them this’
‘No I cannot take money from the church!’
The man moves his head closer and he can be made out in the faint light. He is a young man, probably late twenties, with thick, black hair pushed toward the back of his head.
‘This is their money, dirty money, give this to them my child.’
She then speaks his name with lovingness as though she is speaking the name of God himself.
‘Do not worry my child. Tell them I sent you…Go now and may the lord go with you.’
‘I love you’
She leaves the confession booth leaving him sat there, listening as she leaves the church. Our focus remains on Ark as the events outside unfold.
There is a struggle.
She screams.
A gun shot is heard.
Silence.
On hearing this Ark explodes to his feet and leaves the booth. Moving into the light allows us to see the anger on his face. He is about to do something, something crazy. He moves over to the exit as the desert sun beams its way into his view. The daylight reflects of his white pyjama style robes and the sun blasts from the cross he wears around his neck.
He steps out.
The three men stand there facing him. All wearing long duster jackets. Real weather beaten, unshaven thugs. the leader of the group, a man they call Ward is holding the girl by the hair who is now on her knees. In his other hand he is holding a scalping knife. The old man across the street looks on from his crooked porch with concern.
‘Tryin’ to pay us off with our own stolen money you piece o’ shit’ says Ward
‘You don’t need the trouble, let her go’ the Preacher replies
‘How about you jus' high tail it back into that there church o’ yours before we burn it to the ground!’
'You have your money. Take it and live your lives in peace.’
Ward replies ‘I’d rather take hers!’
He slits the girl’s throat. Her eyes stay on the Preacher's all the way to the ground where they finally extinguish and close for the last time.
He finally manages to take his eyes off her only for them to meet with Ward’s. The Preacher's eyes squint with a rage he had always forbidden himself to feel but looking at Ward; he is overthrown with reason and question.
The old man returns to fixing his porch and pretends not to have seen the commotion.
‘You got somethin’ to say about this here mess on the floor Preacher?
Ward lets a slow croaky laugh pass by his long, dirty moustache.
‘I didn’t think so’
The men back away as The Preacher walks down towards the girl on the floor. The men move their right arms to their sides as though to reach for their holsters on their thighs. The Preacher carries on.
When he reaches the girl, he kisses her forehead. Lifts her and carries her towards the church.
Ward shouts out ‘We ain’t through with you yet preacher’
The Preacher slightly turns his head, but his gaze remains on the girl.
‘Nor I with you’
He leaves their sight and enters the dark church. He lays her on the table at the head of the dusty church below the large crucifix. He kisses her forehead again and moves to a corner of the church where a small chest lies. He kneels next to the chest and removes the cross he wears around his neck. The holds it to his forehead ad shuts his eyes as he whispers, ‘please forgive me.’ He then inserts the cross into the lock in the chest and opens it to reveal two large silver revolvers. He lifts them out and feels the weight, a weight he has not felt in some time. The long barrels of the pistols catch a glimmer of light that shines through a crack in a stained-glass window onto a tear on the Preacher's cheek.
‘You’ve tested me long enough, forgive me.’
We hear a shout from outside the church. ‘Get out here Preacher unless you want that little chapel o’ yours sendin’ to hell with the girl!’
The Preacher stands and tucks the pistols into his belt at the small of his back. He then heads out towards the blinding sun that invades the church. The Church chimes once as Ark moves through the doors of the church out into the middle of the dusty and questionable ‘road’ where the three men stand a little further down the street.
Ward smiles ‘There you are Preacher. I must admit you had me and the boys worried for a second there, ain’t that right boys.’
The two men just give a slight nod as they grin away.
The old man continues to fix his porch.
‘But I gotsta ask you a favour Preacher. Seein’ as how I’m never gonna get a chance to meet God, I want you to pass him a message from me when I send you to him.’
Ark remains silent but stares intently at the men, switching his concentration from one to the other.
‘Tell him that the Devil runs this town, and that God ain’t welcome here no more.’
As Ward ends his sentence the three men reach for their guns, one of them has a micro Uzi whilst Ward and the other have Berettas. But by the time the men have their weapons pointed in Ark’s rough direction Ark already has the men in the sights of his Revolvers.
This little gunfight was over before it even began
Ark unleashes hell in the form of the revolver slugs his pistols push out into the men. The two men on either side of Ward perform a death dance as they slowly make their way to the ground and then Hell itself. The man with the Uzi lets of stray shots on his way down which drive into the wooden buildings surrounding him.
Ward remains stood.
Three bullets in his stomach.
Blood appears at the side of his mouth.
He eventually falls.
The old man fixes his porch.
Ark reloads his pistols shot by shot as he slowly makes his way over to Ward who gasps and gargles for a life that he knows is over. He kneels over Ward who looks up at Ark whose face is merely a silhouette in the hot, desert sun. Ark runs his hand over Wards eyes and shuts them. Ward’s gargling stops as his eyes are closed for the last time.
The church bell chimes once more.
Ark stands and moves away from the corpses in the street. He heads towards the old man down the street who fixes his porch opposite the Waterbuck Hotel. He can see the old man trembling as he avoids eye contact with the approaching preacher.
‘I need you to do me a favour friend’
The old man looks up at Ark with a terrified look on his face.
‘I need you to go and call the Sheriff.’
‘Wh...what do I tell him?’
‘Tell him…’
He glances back at the church, then at the Hotel, and then he looks back towards the old man.
‘Tell him that everybody in the Waterbuck Hotel…is about to be killed.’
The old man looks bewildered at the priest as he contemplates what he means by this. When it finally hits him, he runs inside as Ark turns his head to the Hotel across the street. A figure in a large window on the third-floor stares down at Ark and then turns away.
Ark knows exactly who the man in the window is…
The man in the window knows exactly what Ark is about to do…
Part Two: Pathetic Souls
We hear Ark’s voice.
‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.’
‘I have killed three men in a blind rage...’
We see Ward and his two bullet riddled cronies lying in the dirt in a pool of their own blood
‘And I am about to kill many more.’
We see the Waterbuck Hotel, merely a silhouette in front of the blazing morning Sun.
We than see Ark make his way towards the building. As he gets nearer two men come into view from inside the building. Moving through the Saloon like swinging doors.
Ark plans his next move as his focus switched between the men who stand outside the door.
These men will be no problem.
‘Mornin’ Preacher.’
Ark stays silent as he steps up to the men.
‘What brings a man of the Cloth to a place of sin such as this?’
‘I’ve come with news for your employer.’
‘And what news would that be?’
The two men stare at Ark in a feeble attempt at intimidation.
‘Blood has been spilt.’
The two men look at each other. And then back at Ark.
‘The first to be spilt was that of a young girl.’
The men start to grin at each other when they realise who the girl was.
‘I have lived a life without sin for years now. Until three minutes ago'
The men look confused for a moment. Ark looks down waiting for a reaction for the men.
Waiting for them to make the first move just like Ward did, waiting for them to get themselves killed just like Ward did.
The men look down the street and can make out the bodies in the dirt which are now being stripped by a vulture.
‘Ward!’
‘You son of a whore!’
The first guard grabs Ark by the shoulder as the second one lands a punch in Ark’s face. Ark takes this opportunity to reach for the silenced pistols that each of the guards had concealed in their holsters in their jackets.
He grabs each pistol, presses the barrel of each gun to the chest of each man, squeezes the trigger. There is a brief look of disbelief on their faces before the men fall to the ground.
Ark looks at the corpses on the floor, their eyes still open, staring blankly into sheer nothingness.
Ark feels no guilt.
He enters the Hotel with a bleeding nose, swinging the doors as he enters the dark refuge fogged by cigarette smoke. The smell of smoke, vomit and another stale odour that he can’t make out assaults his nostrils.
The room has a few pathetic souls sat at various tables in the bar, drinking away, trying to forget, or remember.
This place reeks of sin
Conveniently, no one seems to have heard the commotion outside. The only sign of potential threats is the two men at the bar who seem to be eyeing up Ark with suspicious eyes.
Wait…cancel that…the only sign of potential threats has just been accompanied by the three men that have just walked down the stairs with weapons in hand, one bears a shotgun, another a 9.mm pistol and the other brandishes a TEC 9 machine pistol.
By the time they open fire Ark has already launched himself over the bar. Not before emptying the pistols that he took from the guards into the two men at the bar. The two men have barely hit the deck but Ark is already in cover from the men on the stairs and has discarded the stolen handguns and drawn his own silver pistols.
The pathetic souls carry on drinking as if nothing is happening.
The three men take their positions behind various tables in the saloon.
They make the mistake of not spreading out.
Ark checks his pistols…two silver bullets in each silver chamber.
He doesn't want to waste the slugs on these men…these bullets are being saved for another, more formidable sinner.
The three men have already begun firing at the bar. Riddling the wood with smoking holes of iron and buckshot, smashing many glass bottles which spray various spirits all over the saloon as they shatter from the impact of the assault.
The pathetic souls continue to drink.
The bar inevitably bursts into flames. Ark rolls sideways to avoid the falling inferno as it consumes the bar.
Not before grabbing an unharmed bottle of whisky
Ark makes his move
He throws the whisky in the direction of the sinners who grin away at the destruction they have caused.
Ark draws his pistol and aims it at the airborne bottle and waits for the right split second.
He fires at the bottle which is a mere metre from the gunmen.
Oh well…one bullet for three men…seems like a good trade.
The bottle erupts into a fireball as it is greeted by the silver bullet. The middle man is unfortunate to be right in the middle of the explosion. The other two are sent flying in different directions, one to the stairs on the right causing the banister to splinter and crack as he hits it, the other is sent flying out the window of the saloon which raises a cloud of dust as his burning corpse hits the ground outside.
The pathetic souls remain unharmed and unaware of the carnage and carry on drinking.
Ark slowly stands up and reviews the situation.
The fire slowly eats away at the point of the explosion along with half of the bar. The middle man’s charred corpse can be seen now at the back of the room.
Ark walks past the pathetic souls and heads for the stairs, stepping over the corpse on the staircase as he ascends it.
As he reaches the top, he kicks down the door leading to the upstairs office… single pistol in hand. The other, empty pistol lies discarded on the floor of the hotel. He won’t need it anymore, never again.
‘Well it’s about damn time preacher!’
Ark enters the room
The first thing he notices is the stench of cigar smoke that assaults his nostrils. He surveys the room, a murky yet lavishly decorated office with bookshelves sprawling across the walls either side of him, hundreds of books inhabit them, and not one of them has neither title nor author on the spine.
On the ceiling hangs a rather expensive looking chandelier.
At the other end of the room is a large desk, on one corner sits a bottle of whisky accompanied by two small glasses, on the other sit two beautiful women in burlesque lingerie, both looking fearful of Ark.
Behind the desk sits his prey.
Behind the desk sits Horton, the man who runs the town where God is not welcome.
‘Come on in pilgrim, looks to me like we need to have ourselves a conversation.’
Ark takes one step closer. He says nothing, he studies the man sat at the desk. His sinister eyes that partner themselves with a slight smile with which a handlebar moustache surrounds. His black hair is receding, his build is moderately large. He wears a dusty grey suit that seems very at home in the dusty grey room.
Without taking his intent gaze off Ark he orders the girls. ‘Get outta here.’
They obey his broken glass voice and quickly leave, making sure not to get too close to Ark as they pass him.
Ark studies his prey.
Horton takes his eyes off ark and slowly begins to stand. Ark raises his remaining pistol in defiance. Horton ignores this. ‘Well you finally went an’ did it Preacher.’
He walks round his desk and sits on the front facing Ark.
‘You broke.’
He gestures towards the whisky bottle and glass sat on the corner of his desk. ‘You mind if I…?’
Ark says nothing but continues to study his prey.
Horton begins to pour himself a glass of whisky.
‘How long it is that you’ve been here Preacher? In this place.’
Ark replies ‘What does that matter?’
‘I guess it doesn’t’
He takes a sip of his whisky and takes a long slow gulp.
‘This place…a few days can seem like a few weeks, a few months like a few years’
He gestures impatiently with his hands
‘…well, you get the idea.’
Ark begins to get impatient ‘What is your point; spill it before I spill your blood’
Horton lets a slow, deep laugh pass. ‘I can already see why He put you here…why you were sent to this place.’
Ark says nothing.
Horton continues ‘I betchya don’t even know where you were before this place. Well I guess that don’t matter either, not anymore. What does matter is why He put you here.’
‘He?’
‘Yeah…Him’
The venom in Horton’s voice can be heard as he utters the last word, half to himself.
‘He sent you here Preacher, because – jus’ like today – you broke. You were pushed too far and you broke. And that’s jus' something that just isn't gonna fly'
Ark takes another step forward; the impatience in his voice is beginning to show.
‘What is your part in this old man?’
‘I guess I’m here to test you. Put here by the Other guy to see if you’d break again. And if ya did, you’d belong to Him.’
Ark begins to raise his voice. ‘Who are these men you speak of? speak!’
Yet another laugh bellows from Horton’s mouth, this one more abrupt and filled with venom
‘You jus’ don’t get it do ya Preacher, who do ya think has been watching you in that run-down church of yours? You’ve been serving him every day of your life and in this place, you’ve been begging him for forgiveness for something that you don’t even remember doing.’
Ark’s facial expression changes when he realises whom Horton is talking about.
‘Everything that happened today was your final test Preacher. He wanted to see if you’d break. And guess what preacher ya did! The sheriff’s on his way right now to clear up this little mess you made.’
Horton moves back to behind his desk and looks out of the window.
He sees a vehicle in the distance approaching, a cloud of dust trails behind as if pursuing it to its destination.
‘Well here he is now Preacher.’
It all makes sense now. Ark looks down at his pistol. He always knew the day would come where he would wield it again.
‘I haven’t failed any test. I did what needed to be done.’
Horton slams his fists on the desk in defiance of what the Preacher has dared to imply.
‘You took many lives today Preacher! You’ve damned yourself for an eternity as soon as you squeezed those triggers and sent my men back to Hell!’
‘I’ve rid this place of evil men. And if in doing so I’ve damned myself, then so be it. Good men that do nothing to combat evil are just as bad as those they oppose.’
‘You sound as if you’ve made up your mind Preacher…then I guess you have only one more life to take…’
Ark raises his pistol again. Horton is in his sights.
Just one more life to take.
Ark lowers his pistol. Horton wonders why his life hasn’t ended yet. The Preacher reaches towards the small of his back and pulls out a berretta that he picked up from one of his fallen enemies downstairs and throws it onto the desk behind which Horton stands. He then tucks his own six shooter into the small of his back once more.
‘I will not take the life of an unarmed man’
He waits.
He waits for Horton to make his move.
It doesn’t take long
Horton makes his move.
It is not the move Ark anticipates.
It seems Horton doesn’t need the shooter that Ark offered, which he makes clear when he pulls out the sawn off shotgun from just beneath the table.
Ark isn’t quick enough.
He takes a load of buckshot to the shoulder and inevitably drops to the dirty floor.
Horton approaches him, sawn off in hand, still loaded with one last shell. He lets out another long and deep laugh.
Looks to me that you ain’t the fastest in town Preacher! HA!
He crouches over his fallen enemy and points the still smoking at Ark’s face who is fighting deaths cold embrace on the floor.
‘Now let’s see if all that prayin’ that you did was worthwhile after all.’
Ark makes his final move.
He rips off the cross that still hangs around his neck and jams it straight into the side of Horton’s neck. The expression on the hotel owner’s face quickly changes to that of surprise and horror. He drops his shotgun on the floor next to Ark, using the hand that was holding it to clutch his throat that spurts out blood all over the place.
When Horton inevitably falls to the floor and his evil eyes become lifeless and the gargling stops, Ark knows that he has made his final kill.
He hears the sheriff’s siren outside.
He leaves the room, doesn’t even look back at Horton’s lifeless corpse or the silver pistol that has served him this day. He walks past the terrified whores, down the stairs, past the corpses, past the pathetic souls who continue to drink and ignore the carnage that surrounds them. The fire still slowly eats away at the area where the Molotov hit.
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Ark leaves this place of sin.
It takes a while for his eyes to adjust back to the blazing sun outside but Ark can make out the silhouette of the Sheriff who is stood by his car, smoking a cigarette. His eyes cannot be seen through the aviators that he wears.
‘You ready to go Preacher?’
Ark looks back at the Waterbuck Hotel which is beginning to smoke. He looks at the office, where Horton used to rule from. He looks down the street at where a vulture still picks at the corpses in the street. He finally looks back at the church where the young woman whom Ark failed to protect but succeeded in avenging.
He will never see her again, not in this lifetime. He remembers her sweet face and sheds a tear.
Rest easy.
‘I’m ready.’
The sheriff replies ‘Then let’s not keep Him waiting.’
He opens the car door. Ark gets in, not before looking back one last time. The car leaves this unnamed place for the last time. A dust trail follows the vehicle to its destination far away.
The old man fixes his porch.
He takes a step back. Surveys the quality of his handy work. He then surveys the street.
The Hotel, the office, the street, the vultures, the stripped corpses.
The church.
The old man wipes the sweat from his brow and sighs.
I reckon that jus' about does it.
copyright Jonathan Bonner 2008
Additional Author's Note: No I don’t have an excuse for my other stories, smart-ass!
Part One: Priest
The first thing we hear is a church bell chime once.
The first thing we see is the church itself.
An old Mexican style, run down building with a bell above the roof, just below a large cross. We then see the town in which it lives. A single long strip of dust and sand with old, wooden buildings on either side, each complimented by its own wooden sidewalk. The streets are deserted. Save for one old man fixing the porch of his shop.
Any outsider would just think that this is a western ghost town.
‘Forgive me father for I have sinned.’
Our attention takes us through the doors of the church as we slowly take in the dark, depressing interior of this house of God.
‘It’s been three days since my last confession.’
‘And what have been your sins?’ comes the reply
Inside the confession box a young woman can barely be seen in the dark, but we can make out her youth and beauty. The beauty in her worried eyes cannot be explained to anyone but those who have witnessed them for themselves. Her voice hint’s that she is of Latin descent. The man on the other side of the box cannot be seen.
‘I have done a terrible thing and now I fear I will not be forgiven.’
‘The Lord forgives all. He watches over us and keeps us from danger’
‘It’s not The Lord who will not forgive me. And it’s you who I need to keep me from danger.’
Gun shots are heard outside as three men approach. Their boots kicking up the dust on the street.
A voice is heard outside ‘Time’s up girl! Hope you did some real heavy praying’. Ain’t no such thing as sanctuary out here!’
‘What has happened my child?’
The girl tries not to tremble as she speaks ‘I owe the men at the Waterbuck Hotel money. Drug money, money I do not have. They are going to kill me’
After a long, silent pause in which only the trembling of the distressed girl can be heard. The grid separating the two opens and a hand passes an amount of money to the girl.
The man's voice replies ‘Give them this’
‘No I cannot take money from the church!’
The man moves his head closer and he can be made out in the faint light. He is a young man, probably late twenties, with thick, black hair pushed toward the back of his head.
‘This is their money, dirty money, give this to them my child.’
She then speaks his name with lovingness as though she is speaking the name of God himself.
‘Do not worry my child. Tell them I sent you…Go now and may the lord go with you.’
‘I love you’
She leaves the confession booth leaving him sat there, listening as she leaves the church. Our focus remains on Ark as the events outside unfold.
There is a struggle.
She screams.
A gun shot is heard.
Silence.
On hearing this Ark explodes to his feet and leaves the booth. Moving into the light allows us to see the anger on his face. He is about to do something, something crazy. He moves over to the exit as the desert sun beams its way into his view. The daylight reflects of his white pyjama style robes and the sun blasts from the cross he wears around his neck.
He steps out.
The three men stand there facing him. All wearing long duster jackets. Real weather beaten, unshaven thugs. the leader of the group, a man they call Ward is holding the girl by the hair who is now on her knees. In his other hand he is holding a scalping knife. The old man across the street looks on from his crooked porch with concern.
‘Tryin’ to pay us off with our own stolen money you piece o’ shit’ says Ward
‘You don’t need the trouble, let her go’ the Preacher replies
‘How about you jus' high tail it back into that there church o’ yours before we burn it to the ground!’
'You have your money. Take it and live your lives in peace.’
Ward replies ‘I’d rather take hers!’
He slits the girl’s throat. Her eyes stay on the Preacher's all the way to the ground where they finally extinguish and close for the last time.
He finally manages to take his eyes off her only for them to meet with Ward’s. The Preacher's eyes squint with a rage he had always forbidden himself to feel but looking at Ward; he is overthrown with reason and question.
The old man returns to fixing his porch and pretends not to have seen the commotion.
‘You got somethin’ to say about this here mess on the floor Preacher?
Ward lets a slow croaky laugh pass by his long, dirty moustache.
‘I didn’t think so’
The men back away as The Preacher walks down towards the girl on the floor. The men move their right arms to their sides as though to reach for their holsters on their thighs. The Preacher carries on.
When he reaches the girl, he kisses her forehead. Lifts her and carries her towards the church.
Ward shouts out ‘We ain’t through with you yet preacher’
The Preacher slightly turns his head, but his gaze remains on the girl.
‘Nor I with you’
He leaves their sight and enters the dark church. He lays her on the table at the head of the dusty church below the large crucifix. He kisses her forehead again and moves to a corner of the church where a small chest lies. He kneels next to the chest and removes the cross he wears around his neck. The holds it to his forehead ad shuts his eyes as he whispers, ‘please forgive me.’ He then inserts the cross into the lock in the chest and opens it to reveal two large silver revolvers. He lifts them out and feels the weight, a weight he has not felt in some time. The long barrels of the pistols catch a glimmer of light that shines through a crack in a stained-glass window onto a tear on the Preacher's cheek.
‘You’ve tested me long enough, forgive me.’
We hear a shout from outside the church. ‘Get out here Preacher unless you want that little chapel o’ yours sendin’ to hell with the girl!’
The Preacher stands and tucks the pistols into his belt at the small of his back. He then heads out towards the blinding sun that invades the church. The Church chimes once as Ark moves through the doors of the church out into the middle of the dusty and questionable ‘road’ where the three men stand a little further down the street.
Ward smiles ‘There you are Preacher. I must admit you had me and the boys worried for a second there, ain’t that right boys.’
The two men just give a slight nod as they grin away.
The old man continues to fix his porch.
‘But I gotsta ask you a favour Preacher. Seein’ as how I’m never gonna get a chance to meet God, I want you to pass him a message from me when I send you to him.’
Ark remains silent but stares intently at the men, switching his concentration from one to the other.
‘Tell him that the Devil runs this town, and that God ain’t welcome here no more.’
As Ward ends his sentence the three men reach for their guns, one of them has a micro Uzi whilst Ward and the other have Berettas. But by the time the men have their weapons pointed in Ark’s rough direction Ark already has the men in the sights of his Revolvers.
This little gunfight was over before it even began
Ark unleashes hell in the form of the revolver slugs his pistols push out into the men. The two men on either side of Ward perform a death dance as they slowly make their way to the ground and then Hell itself. The man with the Uzi lets of stray shots on his way down which drive into the wooden buildings surrounding him.
Ward remains stood.
Three bullets in his stomach.
Blood appears at the side of his mouth.
He eventually falls.
The old man fixes his porch.
Ark reloads his pistols shot by shot as he slowly makes his way over to Ward who gasps and gargles for a life that he knows is over. He kneels over Ward who looks up at Ark whose face is merely a silhouette in the hot, desert sun. Ark runs his hand over Wards eyes and shuts them. Ward’s gargling stops as his eyes are closed for the last time.
The church bell chimes once more.
Ark stands and moves away from the corpses in the street. He heads towards the old man down the street who fixes his porch opposite the Waterbuck Hotel. He can see the old man trembling as he avoids eye contact with the approaching preacher.
‘I need you to do me a favour friend’
The old man looks up at Ark with a terrified look on his face.
‘I need you to go and call the Sheriff.’
‘Wh...what do I tell him?’
‘Tell him…’
He glances back at the church, then at the Hotel, and then he looks back towards the old man.
‘Tell him that everybody in the Waterbuck Hotel…is about to be killed.’
The old man looks bewildered at the priest as he contemplates what he means by this. When it finally hits him, he runs inside as Ark turns his head to the Hotel across the street. A figure in a large window on the third-floor stares down at Ark and then turns away.
Ark knows exactly who the man in the window is…
The man in the window knows exactly what Ark is about to do…
Part Two: Pathetic Souls
We hear Ark’s voice.
‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.’
‘I have killed three men in a blind rage...’
We see Ward and his two bullet riddled cronies lying in the dirt in a pool of their own blood
‘And I am about to kill many more.’
We see the Waterbuck Hotel, merely a silhouette in front of the blazing morning Sun.
We than see Ark make his way towards the building. As he gets nearer two men come into view from inside the building. Moving through the Saloon like swinging doors.
Ark plans his next move as his focus switched between the men who stand outside the door.
These men will be no problem.
‘Mornin’ Preacher.’
Ark stays silent as he steps up to the men.
‘What brings a man of the Cloth to a place of sin such as this?’
‘I’ve come with news for your employer.’
‘And what news would that be?’
The two men stare at Ark in a feeble attempt at intimidation.
‘Blood has been spilt.’
The two men look at each other. And then back at Ark.
‘The first to be spilt was that of a young girl.’
The men start to grin at each other when they realise who the girl was.
‘I have lived a life without sin for years now. Until three minutes ago'
The men look confused for a moment. Ark looks down waiting for a reaction for the men.
Waiting for them to make the first move just like Ward did, waiting for them to get themselves killed just like Ward did.
The men look down the street and can make out the bodies in the dirt which are now being stripped by a vulture.
‘Ward!’
‘You son of a whore!’
The first guard grabs Ark by the shoulder as the second one lands a punch in Ark’s face. Ark takes this opportunity to reach for the silenced pistols that each of the guards had concealed in their holsters in their jackets.
He grabs each pistol, presses the barrel of each gun to the chest of each man, squeezes the trigger. There is a brief look of disbelief on their faces before the men fall to the ground.
Ark looks at the corpses on the floor, their eyes still open, staring blankly into sheer nothingness.
Ark feels no guilt.
He enters the Hotel with a bleeding nose, swinging the doors as he enters the dark refuge fogged by cigarette smoke. The smell of smoke, vomit and another stale odour that he can’t make out assaults his nostrils.
The room has a few pathetic souls sat at various tables in the bar, drinking away, trying to forget, or remember.
This place reeks of sin
Conveniently, no one seems to have heard the commotion outside. The only sign of potential threats is the two men at the bar who seem to be eyeing up Ark with suspicious eyes.
Wait…cancel that…the only sign of potential threats has just been accompanied by the three men that have just walked down the stairs with weapons in hand, one bears a shotgun, another a 9.mm pistol and the other brandishes a TEC 9 machine pistol.
By the time they open fire Ark has already launched himself over the bar. Not before emptying the pistols that he took from the guards into the two men at the bar. The two men have barely hit the deck but Ark is already in cover from the men on the stairs and has discarded the stolen handguns and drawn his own silver pistols.
The pathetic souls carry on drinking as if nothing is happening.
The three men take their positions behind various tables in the saloon.
They make the mistake of not spreading out.
Ark checks his pistols…two silver bullets in each silver chamber.
He doesn't want to waste the slugs on these men…these bullets are being saved for another, more formidable sinner.
The three men have already begun firing at the bar. Riddling the wood with smoking holes of iron and buckshot, smashing many glass bottles which spray various spirits all over the saloon as they shatter from the impact of the assault.
The pathetic souls continue to drink.
The bar inevitably bursts into flames. Ark rolls sideways to avoid the falling inferno as it consumes the bar.
Not before grabbing an unharmed bottle of whisky
Ark makes his move
He throws the whisky in the direction of the sinners who grin away at the destruction they have caused.
Ark draws his pistol and aims it at the airborne bottle and waits for the right split second.
He fires at the bottle which is a mere metre from the gunmen.
Oh well…one bullet for three men…seems like a good trade.
The bottle erupts into a fireball as it is greeted by the silver bullet. The middle man is unfortunate to be right in the middle of the explosion. The other two are sent flying in different directions, one to the stairs on the right causing the banister to splinter and crack as he hits it, the other is sent flying out the window of the saloon which raises a cloud of dust as his burning corpse hits the ground outside.
The pathetic souls remain unharmed and unaware of the carnage and carry on drinking.
Ark slowly stands up and reviews the situation.
The fire slowly eats away at the point of the explosion along with half of the bar. The middle man’s charred corpse can be seen now at the back of the room.
Ark walks past the pathetic souls and heads for the stairs, stepping over the corpse on the staircase as he ascends it.
As he reaches the top, he kicks down the door leading to the upstairs office… single pistol in hand. The other, empty pistol lies discarded on the floor of the hotel. He won’t need it anymore, never again.
‘Well it’s about damn time preacher!’
Ark enters the room
The first thing he notices is the stench of cigar smoke that assaults his nostrils. He surveys the room, a murky yet lavishly decorated office with bookshelves sprawling across the walls either side of him, hundreds of books inhabit them, and not one of them has neither title nor author on the spine.
On the ceiling hangs a rather expensive looking chandelier.
At the other end of the room is a large desk, on one corner sits a bottle of whisky accompanied by two small glasses, on the other sit two beautiful women in burlesque lingerie, both looking fearful of Ark.
Behind the desk sits his prey.
Behind the desk sits Horton, the man who runs the town where God is not welcome.
‘Come on in pilgrim, looks to me like we need to have ourselves a conversation.’
Ark takes one step closer. He says nothing, he studies the man sat at the desk. His sinister eyes that partner themselves with a slight smile with which a handlebar moustache surrounds. His black hair is receding, his build is moderately large. He wears a dusty grey suit that seems very at home in the dusty grey room.
Without taking his intent gaze off Ark he orders the girls. ‘Get outta here.’
They obey his broken glass voice and quickly leave, making sure not to get too close to Ark as they pass him.
Ark studies his prey.
Horton takes his eyes off ark and slowly begins to stand. Ark raises his remaining pistol in defiance. Horton ignores this. ‘Well you finally went an’ did it Preacher.’
He walks round his desk and sits on the front facing Ark.
‘You broke.’
He gestures towards the whisky bottle and glass sat on the corner of his desk. ‘You mind if I…?’
Ark says nothing but continues to study his prey.
Horton begins to pour himself a glass of whisky.
‘How long it is that you’ve been here Preacher? In this place.’
Ark replies ‘What does that matter?’
‘I guess it doesn’t’
He takes a sip of his whisky and takes a long slow gulp.
‘This place…a few days can seem like a few weeks, a few months like a few years’
He gestures impatiently with his hands
‘…well, you get the idea.’
Ark begins to get impatient ‘What is your point; spill it before I spill your blood’
Horton lets a slow, deep laugh pass. ‘I can already see why He put you here…why you were sent to this place.’
Ark says nothing.
Horton continues ‘I betchya don’t even know where you were before this place. Well I guess that don’t matter either, not anymore. What does matter is why He put you here.’
‘He?’
‘Yeah…Him’
The venom in Horton’s voice can be heard as he utters the last word, half to himself.
‘He sent you here Preacher, because – jus’ like today – you broke. You were pushed too far and you broke. And that’s jus' something that just isn't gonna fly'
Ark takes another step forward; the impatience in his voice is beginning to show.
‘What is your part in this old man?’
‘I guess I’m here to test you. Put here by the Other guy to see if you’d break again. And if ya did, you’d belong to Him.’
Ark begins to raise his voice. ‘Who are these men you speak of? speak!’
Yet another laugh bellows from Horton’s mouth, this one more abrupt and filled with venom
‘You jus’ don’t get it do ya Preacher, who do ya think has been watching you in that run-down church of yours? You’ve been serving him every day of your life and in this place, you’ve been begging him for forgiveness for something that you don’t even remember doing.’
Ark’s facial expression changes when he realises whom Horton is talking about.
‘Everything that happened today was your final test Preacher. He wanted to see if you’d break. And guess what preacher ya did! The sheriff’s on his way right now to clear up this little mess you made.’
Horton moves back to behind his desk and looks out of the window.
He sees a vehicle in the distance approaching, a cloud of dust trails behind as if pursuing it to its destination.
‘Well here he is now Preacher.’
It all makes sense now. Ark looks down at his pistol. He always knew the day would come where he would wield it again.
‘I haven’t failed any test. I did what needed to be done.’
Horton slams his fists on the desk in defiance of what the Preacher has dared to imply.
‘You took many lives today Preacher! You’ve damned yourself for an eternity as soon as you squeezed those triggers and sent my men back to Hell!’
‘I’ve rid this place of evil men. And if in doing so I’ve damned myself, then so be it. Good men that do nothing to combat evil are just as bad as those they oppose.’
‘You sound as if you’ve made up your mind Preacher…then I guess you have only one more life to take…’
Ark raises his pistol again. Horton is in his sights.
Just one more life to take.
Ark lowers his pistol. Horton wonders why his life hasn’t ended yet. The Preacher reaches towards the small of his back and pulls out a berretta that he picked up from one of his fallen enemies downstairs and throws it onto the desk behind which Horton stands. He then tucks his own six shooter into the small of his back once more.
‘I will not take the life of an unarmed man’
He waits.
He waits for Horton to make his move.
It doesn’t take long
Horton makes his move.
It is not the move Ark anticipates.
It seems Horton doesn’t need the shooter that Ark offered, which he makes clear when he pulls out the sawn off shotgun from just beneath the table.
Ark isn’t quick enough.
He takes a load of buckshot to the shoulder and inevitably drops to the dirty floor.
Horton approaches him, sawn off in hand, still loaded with one last shell. He lets out another long and deep laugh.
Looks to me that you ain’t the fastest in town Preacher! HA!
He crouches over his fallen enemy and points the still smoking at Ark’s face who is fighting deaths cold embrace on the floor.
‘Now let’s see if all that prayin’ that you did was worthwhile after all.’
Ark makes his final move.
He rips off the cross that still hangs around his neck and jams it straight into the side of Horton’s neck. The expression on the hotel owner’s face quickly changes to that of surprise and horror. He drops his shotgun on the floor next to Ark, using the hand that was holding it to clutch his throat that spurts out blood all over the place.
When Horton inevitably falls to the floor and his evil eyes become lifeless and the gargling stops, Ark knows that he has made his final kill.
He hears the sheriff’s siren outside.
He leaves the room, doesn’t even look back at Horton’s lifeless corpse or the silver pistol that has served him this day. He walks past the terrified whores, down the stairs, past the corpses, past the pathetic souls who continue to drink and ignore the carnage that surrounds them. The fire still slowly eats away at the area where the Molotov hit.
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Ark leaves this place of sin.
It takes a while for his eyes to adjust back to the blazing sun outside but Ark can make out the silhouette of the Sheriff who is stood by his car, smoking a cigarette. His eyes cannot be seen through the aviators that he wears.
‘You ready to go Preacher?’
Ark looks back at the Waterbuck Hotel which is beginning to smoke. He looks at the office, where Horton used to rule from. He looks down the street at where a vulture still picks at the corpses in the street. He finally looks back at the church where the young woman whom Ark failed to protect but succeeded in avenging.
He will never see her again, not in this lifetime. He remembers her sweet face and sheds a tear.
Rest easy.
‘I’m ready.’
The sheriff replies ‘Then let’s not keep Him waiting.’
He opens the car door. Ark gets in, not before looking back one last time. The car leaves this unnamed place for the last time. A dust trail follows the vehicle to its destination far away.
The old man fixes his porch.
He takes a step back. Surveys the quality of his handy work. He then surveys the street.
The Hotel, the office, the street, the vultures, the stripped corpses.
The church.
The old man wipes the sweat from his brow and sighs.
I reckon that jus' about does it.
copyright Jonathan Bonner 2008