Time Passage: A Time Travel Novel, page 22
Something happened to me that had never happened before. The boiling rage in my gut and in my brain exploded, but not the way it always had before—shooting out in a chaos of curses and in a clumsy attack.
This time, I grew quiet. My eyesight sharpened, my muscles pulsed with expanding strength, and my reflexes were coiled springs. My voice was soft, but with a biting purpose. “I want Tara O’Hanlon.”
“Did you hear me, you stupid woman?” Kreet said, his face pinched with anger. “Get out of here, now, before Buck here shoots this no-good bastard of a doctor, and I come for you with my hands and my whip.”
I repeated my request, my voice controlled, my words crisp. “I want Tara O’Hanlon and I won’t leave without her. Get her! Now!”
There was a long, hanging moment of threatening silence.
CHAPTER 44
Carson Kreet narrowed his flat, cold eyes on me. “All right, girlie girl, your time is up. Get her, Buck!”
Buck lowered his head, ready for wicked business. He fixed his mouth into a grim determination and started toward me.
My reflexes were cat-quick. The 5-shot revolver was in my hand in a second and it was pointed at Kreet. His eyes opened fully, stunned. Buck froze.
“She ain’t gonna shoot nobody! Get her, Buck!” Kreet barked.
Buck reached for his gun, and just as it left his holster, I swung my revolver at him and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud pop and the smell of gunpowder. The bullet struck Buck just above the right knee. He screamed in pain and staggered. I was ready to shoot him again, but he dropped his revolver and crumbled onto the floor, rolling about in pain, both hands gripping his injured leg.
Kreet froze. A deer in headlights.
Movement, up and to my left, drew my eyes. A man scrambled down the stairs, rifle at the ready. As he leveled it on me, I turned and, with the calm aim and sure confidence of a gunslinger, I fired two shots. One missed, digging into the wall, the other slammed into his chest just as he fired the rifle. His bullet was high. My second shot got him. He jerked backwards, slammed back against the wall, dropped the rifle and went tumbling down the stairs, landing hard and still.
Kreet’s hand went for his inside coat pocket. I was there, the revolver swinging toward him, pointed at his head. My eyes were burning with fury, and strangely, I was as calm as a yoga teacher. I felt no fear.
“Draw your gun and you’re dead!” I threatened.
Kreet stiffened and swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving, his bug-eyes spooked.
I crossed to him. “Now get Tara. Right now!”
He stammered. “I… I…”
I took two steps forward and rammed the barrel of the revolver into his forehead, forcing his head back. “Get her, or so help me, I’ll shoot you, and love every minute of watching you die!”
At the top of the stairs, I heard a faint, small voice. “Miss Adams?”
Keeping the revolver at Kreet’s head, I glanced up and saw Tara. A tidal wave of relief washed through me.
“Tara… Tara. Come down. Come down, now. We’re going. Hurry!”
But Tara didn’t move. She seemed lost in a panic-dream.
“Tara! Come down. Now! I’m getting you out of here!”
Tara descended two stairs, then stopped, glancing about, frightened as a wild animal.
“Tara! Come on! We’re going!”
“Miss Adams?” Tara said in a strangled voice, still uncertain, staring at me with round scared eyes. She saw Buck on the floor. She saw the dead man at the bottom of the stairs. She saw Dr. Broadbent sprawled and breathing heavily.
Her wide eyes returned to me, and at the gun pointed at Kreet’s head.
“Yes, Tara. Yes. It’s me. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
Tara’s lips quivered. She crossed her arms tightly against her chest and I saw the tears start. Her face broke up, her eyes pinched shut, and she sobbed, her thin hands flying up to cover her face.
I felt compassion, anxiety, and then, inevitably, the slow spread of fear, as I realized what I’d done. “Tara, honey. Please… we’ve got to go.”
Still fighting emotion, Tara slowly descended the stairs, edged away from the dead man and his rifle, and stopped a few feet from me.
I tried a smile of confidence. “It’s okay, Tara. I’m taking you away from here.”
Dr. Broadbent struggled to his feet, leaning back against the wall near the staircase, his hands trembling.
“Can you walk, Doctor?” I asked.
He nodded, pretending strength. “I am quite all right. Yes. I can walk.”
Tara wiped her wet, disbelieving eyes.
I looked at Kreet, the anger rising again. “We’re leaving now. If you follow me, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand?”
Kreet’s frightened, questioning eyes looked first at Tara and then at me. “You did all this for that girl? For that ragtag, nothing of a girl?”
I wanted to pull the trigger, and it took all my strength not to. “You are a sorry, worthless piece of sh…”
A voice stopped me. And then I saw him. John Gannon entered the room from the back door, with a revolver pointed directly at me!
“Hello Cynthia…” he said smoothly, his eyes veiled and unreadable. “My, but don’t you have a dangerous surplus of fantasy? Do you really think you’re going to leave here alive?”
I kept my revolver pointed at Kreet’s head. Buck was still on the floor, a grimace of pain on his snow-white face, his eyes glazed, blood oozing from his leg.
“Help…” he called, faintly.
No one moved to help him.
“Drop the gun, Miss Downing,” Gannon said.
Tara stared at me, confused by a name she’d never heard.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said, my pulse drumming in my ears.
“I won’t miss, Miss Downing, and I will kill you.”
“Not before I shoot this son-of-a-bitch, who I assume is your friend?”
“Business partner. Nothing more.”
“Nice company you keep, Mr. Gannon.”
“I heard you were coming for the girl. I have friends everywhere, you know, even in the Hotel Denver. Why you came for her, I don’t know, but I wanted to see you again. Well… I had to see you again, didn’t I, after you ran off like that.”
Most of the calm had left me. I was scared, but I tried not to show it. “Now you see me.”
“Just let her go, Gannon!” Kreet pleaded. “I tell you, she’s not right in her head. She shot Buck and Stubby.”
“What a fool you are, Kreet. Haven’t you heard that Miss Downing is all spit and fire, with the hot blood of a gypsy? But she will not be shooting anyone else today. Now, Miss Downing, I said to drop the pistol.”
I looked at him, mustering all the courage I had left. “You’d better not miss me, Gannon, because I’m a helluva good shot and I won’t miss this bastard, and I won’t miss you.”
For only a second, I saw the flash of fear in his eyes, and I reveled in it.
Then he said, “You should have stayed with me instead of running off with Marshal Vance, Cynthia. I would have given you anything you ever wanted.”
“I didn’t want anything you had to give. Now, drop your gun and let us go. You’ll never see me again. I promise.”
He shook his head. “No, Miss Downing. You betrayed me. No one who betrays me stays alive.”
“Are you crazy?! I didn’t betray you. You betrayed yourself when you killed your wife.”
He tensed. Carson Kreet tensed. Tara tensed, and Buck’s body went slack as he lost consciousness from shock and the loss of blood.
I had to buy some time and figure out what I was going to do. I saw Buck’s big revolver on the floor. He’d accidentally kicked it when he fell, and it lay only a few feet from Dr. Broadbent.
I glanced at the doctor and saw that he was thinking what I was thinking.
“All right, Miss Downing,” Gannon said. “I’m finished here. Drop your revolver now, or I will shoot you.”
At that moment, the front door burst open. To my utter shock, Marshal Bryce Vance entered, his revolver drawn and aimed at Gannon.
The room gathered into a stunned silence, as everyone calculated position and possible attack.
“You have a choice, Mr. Gannon,” Bryce said, in his low, measured voice. “You can walk out now, no questions asked, free and clear. Or you can stay and die. Simple choice.”
“Simple!?” Gannon snapped. “You know your days are numbered, Marshal. The town has turned on you, haven’t they? Turned on you because of this low harlot you picked up at my house.”
“As with most things, Mr. Gannon, some people have turned. Some haven’t. It’s the way of things.”
Gannon’s voice growled with anger. “I’ll make sure you’re ridden out of town on a rail—tarred and feathered!”
“Not before they’re told the truth about you killing your wife.”
“That’s what you say and nobody else!”
“There was a witness, Mr. Gannon! All your hired hands didn’t ride away. One of them hid out and watched everything you did.”
I glanced at Bryce. I knew he was bluffing. Thomas was dead.
Gannon’s face fell a little. “What witness?” Gannon bellowed. “There was no witness!”
“You strangled your wife, Mr. Gannon. Do you think I’m a fool? You broke her neck with your own hands when you caught her with the groom, Jubal Banks, in the carriage house. Then you took her and her horse out to the pasture and left her there. Like I said, there was an eye witness to the whole event.”
John Gannon’s hand trembled. “You’re finished, Marshal. Do you hear me? I’ll see to that. I’m the one with the money and the power, and you’re finished!”
“Drop the gun, Mr. Gannon. It’s my last warning to you.”
And then everything happened so fast it was a blur.
Gannon fired, and the bullet glanced off my right side. Tara screamed. The force drove me left, and I toppled to the floor, dropping the 5-shot. Gannon aimed his revolver at Bryce and fired. It missed. Barely!
Standing tall, Bryce used both hands to steady his Colt Six-gun, then he fired two shots at Gannon. From the corner of my eye, I saw Gannon jerk erect, drop his revolver, grab his chest, stagger a few steps to his right, then drop to the floor.
Kreet held up his hands, shouting. “Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me!”
Bryce moved forward, his revolver aimed at Kreet’s head. In a calm voice, Bryce glanced at Dr. Broadbent. “Doctor, attend Miss Downing.”
Dr. Broadbent hurried over and knelt down beside me, searching for the wound.
Bryce stood over Carson Kreet, his Colt aimed at Kreet’s head, his hot eyes glaring at him with a threat. “Keep your hands up!”
Kreet’s hands reached toward the ceiling as Bryce reached into Kreet’s coat, and pulled a revolver from the shoulder holster. “If Miss Downing dies, Mr. Kreet, you’re a dead man.”
Kreet’s face went blank with shock.
Tara rushed to my side, dropping down, weeping. “Miss Adams… Miss Adams, please don’t die. Please…”
CHAPTER 45
We sat at a table in the Bart’s City train station restaurant, without Bryce, who had stayed behind until the local mortician arrived. He’d also called for a doctor to come and treat Buck’s leg, and sent a local man to a ranch two miles away, where the town sheriff, such as he was, was out prospecting.
Before we’d left the Bramble House, Bryce had said, “I don’t know how long this is going to take. I know the sheriff, and he ain’t going to like any of this, especially me shooting John Gannon dead in his town. So, you all catch the next train back to Denver, and I’ll return as soon as I can.”
I was experienced in police matters, so I asked, “But won’t the sheriff want our statements?”
Marshal Vance nodded. “Back in Denver, all of you will write down your statements, and I’ll have them forwarded. That will be all right. Now, you take Tara and the doctor, return to the train station, and get back to Denver.”
In the busy restaurant, we all sipped coffee and nibbled on oatmeal cookies that were soft and tasty. It was late afternoon, and the next train to Denver wasn’t scheduled to arrive for about an hour. I kept glancing back at the front door, hoping Bryce would finish his business and travel back to Denver with us.
Tara rested her head on my shoulder, her packed canvas bag near my feet. Dr. Broadbent sat across from us, holding an ice cloth over his swollen left eye.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked.
“Not so bad. I fear my wife, Tilly, will find me less than desirable to look at, but I’ll play up the story so that I am the hero. I’ll tell her I got some good punches in. That should impress her. And she’ll want to hover over me, and fuss over me, but that will be all right. And you, Miss Downing, are you recovered from all that terrible violence?”
“I’m still shaking inside,” I said, as I stroked Tara’s head. “And thanks to Rosamond’s jewels that helped to cushion Gannon’s bullet, I’m still alive.”
“Yes, but you have a wound on your left hip where the bullet grazed you, and you must keep it clean and dressed, Miss Downing. You do not want infection to set in.”
Tara nestled in closer. “I was so frightened, Miss Adams, and I am so grateful that you’re alive and that I am released from that terrible place.”
I hadn’t had the time to tell Tara who I truly was, so she continued to call me Miss Adams. I’d explain it all later.
“You are a brave woman,” Dr. Broadbent said. “I must say that I have never seen the like of it before. I was sure you would be killed.”
I screwed up my lips. “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one. Let’s face it, I was lucky.”
“But you are a dead shot with a pistol. I dare say, there are not many men, myself included, who could shoot as sure and true. It was most remarkable. Yes, most remarkable.”
I was aware that other diners were staring at us. It was obvious that they’d heard what had happened and most didn’t look pleased to have us there.
“It all happened so fast,” I said. “I didn’t have time to think about it.”
The doctor lowered the ice cloth and reached for his cup of coffee. He took a sip and replaced the cup in the saucer. “What will you do now, Miss Downing?” the doctor asked. “Will you stay in Denver?”
Tara spoke up. “Why are you being addressed as Miss Downing? I don’t understand.”
“I’ll tell you later, Tara. For now, let’s just relax.”
I wrapped an arm around Tara’s shoulder and held her close. “As to your question, Doctor, Tara and I are going home, aren’t we, Tara?”
She looked up at me. “Home to New York?”
“Yes, back to New York, where we belong. We’ll start a new life there.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Miss Downing, pardon me for saying so, but it is known throughout the town that you and Marshal Vance are, shall I say, fond of each other’s company.”
“He’ll come with us,” I said confidently. “I don’t think the town will want him in Denver after he shot and killed John Gannon, do you? And I’m not going to win any popularity contests. Most people already want me to get out of town, don’t you think?”
The doctor lowered his head. “Perhaps you are right. The ugly truth of John Gannon’s dastardly murder of his wife and that poor young man will never be believed, and anyway, I doubt whether Marshal Vance will ever tell it. So, unfortunately, I believe you are correct in your supposition, Miss Downing. The town might turn against him, and he could be dismissed by the territorial governor, who knew John Gannon well. But I, for one, will lobby for him to stay. The town will never find a better lawman than Marshal Bryce Vance.”
Bryce didn’t meet us at the restaurant as I had hoped, so the three of us took the train back to Denver, arriving late, all of us drained of energy and longing to sleep away the awful images of the day.
In my hotel room, I ordered a hot bath for Tara. While she bathed, I helped wash her hair and scrub her dirty fingernails.
Later, yawning, she buttoned on one of my nightgowns and slipped under the warm quilt, and I tugged it up to her chin.
And then, unexpectedly, she began talking about Irish fairies.
“What are these fairies, and where do they live?” I asked, easing down next to her on the edge of the bed.
Tara lifted up on elbows and her eyes lit up. “They live underground beneath grassy mounds, and in trees, and some live in an invisible world that hovers close to this one.”
“Have you ever seen a fairy?”
“Oh, no, Miss Adams, you must have the gift to see them. My mother said she could see them, and she said they existed in a timeless world.”
And then Tara’s eyes fluttered. She dropped back down, her head deep into the pillow and she was asleep. I watched her sleep for a time in the dim light of an oil lamp, and I stroked her hair, and I swelled with love for the girl, a love I hadn’t experienced since before the death of my sister. It was a healing love, a tenderness that seemed to fill the room, and there was a sweetness in those peaceful moments that I can’t describe.
As the night lengthened, I rose from the bed and moved to the window, pulling back the curtain, and staring out into the quiet night. Would Bryce come with us to New York? I silently prayed that he would. He would be the perfect father for Tara and the perfect man for me. Bryce Vance and I knew each other. Deep down in our souls, we knew we were meant for each other, that we loved each other, and that we always would. There was no doubt about it.
Whatever we encountered in the New York of 1880, I knew Bryce could handle it. And I knew he’d thrive there, as a policeman, or at whatever he put his mind to.
