Guadalupe's Tears (2 page)

Chapter Two

Lee stepped through the swinging doors of the Paragon saloon and looked around. It was average in appearance, similar to every other saloon he’d visited since he was fourteen. A long bar composed of darkish wood comprised the back of the building. A staircase on the right hand side led to the upstairs rooms. Shabby tables with tired looking occupants played dominoes or poker while sipping stale whiskey. Saloon girls huddled like tattered hens in the corner. The piano sat silent, devoid of company.

Three day riders occupied the bar. They hunched over their drinks, silent as death as the bartender offered Lee a strange glance and a faint shake of his head.

Lee ignored the bartender as his eyes riveted to a large portrait behind the bar.

The painting depicted woman with porcelain skin and hair the color of dried blood. It wasn’t the woman’s striking figure that he noticed so much as he did her eyes, which were the queerest color he had ever seen. He sat down on the nearest barstool, his eyes never leaving the portrait.

“Odd picture,” Lee commented to the bartender.

The bartender stared at him like a rabbit caught in a snare. “We’re out of everything. It’s best you be on your way,” he said under his breath.

“You’re telling me that you don’t have a drop of liquor in the place?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, mister,” the bartender said.

Lee heard barstool legs scraping against the heavy planked floor. The day riders approached. . Lee groaned to himself. The last thing he wanted was to get into a bar fight in a peculiar town that didn’t seem to care much for strangers.

“Okay I’ll take a room then. And a bath and a shave.”

“Sorry, we’re all full up.”

Lee felt his temper rise. He also felt the heat of the men who had moved closer toward him, circling him.

“I suppose there ain’t no grub either

“You’d be right, pilgrim.”

Lee slammed down his canteen. “Can you at least fill up my canteen?”

“There’s a horse trough outside,” the bartender replied, staring at the canteen as if Lee had just tossed a rattler onto the bar.

“Well if that ain’t the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard,” Lee stated. “Your brother- in-law practically dragged me in here. He insisted—”

“I ain’t got no brother-in-law,” the barkeep replied, his tone flat.

“But the liveryman said—”

“I don’t know who you talked to mister, but we ain’t got no livery. The stable master died two years ago.”

“Two years,” Lee started, stunned. His expression turned to granite. “What are you people playing at?”

“We ain’t playing at nothing. You’re the one who ain’t got his facts straight.”

The day riders drew nearer still. Lee could feel their closeness; catch the scent of stale whiskey on their breath. The mixed aroma of body odor, horse, leather and tobacco was as stifling as the darkness and heat of the saloon. Jangling holsters unnerved him; the sweet scent of a well oiled gun just fingertips away from being drawn made the delicate hairs on the back of his arms go up. Yet, Lee stood his ground. “What kind of a place is this where a man can’t even fill his canteen?”

“The kind that wants you gone,” the shorter, swarthier of the three day riders said. “If you’re smart you’ll get out of here and you won’t come back.”

“And you won’t tell nobody about us neither,” said the wiry day rider who was standing behind him. “Not if you know what’s good for you,”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure to get out of your...town...” Lee scathed. “But I have a little problem with that. I ain’t got a horse, and your livery man took off like his ass was ablaze.”

“Sounds like a tough luck story to me, friend,” the swarthy man said.

“And like Bruce said, we ain’t got no livery.”

“You can always go out and sleep with the injuns, if you can catch one. Them Comanche gals are pretty hard to hold I hear.” The third one snickered.

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Lee blurted. “And you’re right, boys. I think I will be on my way.” He backed slowly away from the bar, bumping the wiry man hard on the shoulder as he went. He tipped his hat to the picture on behind the bar. “And give my regards to the lady in the picture.”

All three men stiffened. The wiry day rider put his hand on his holster. “I think it’s best you be gone now,” he said softly. “Sundown is on us. You won’t want to be here when the sun goes down.”

Lee uttered a short laugh. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard, friend. What happens at sundown that you don’t want me to see?”

“I ain’t your friend. And I’m telling you now to get out...” He paused; cast a wary glance at the stairwell. “Now, before things turn really bad for you.”

“Bruce darling, why are you being so inhospitable to our guest?” A woman’s voice, indolent and sultry, came from the top of the stairwell.

The day riders scattered like frightened mice into the dark recesses of the saloon. Bruce the bartender blanched his eyes wide. He stared at Lee who cut his eyes toward the door, his expression desperate. Lee didn’t get it. What was the barkeep trying to say?

“Give him a beer,” the woman commanded as she descended the steps like a queen. Her eyes riveted him in a way Lee found erotic and terrifying at the same time. Somewhere buried in the back of his mind a voice told him to run, yet he did not.

“You’re the woman in the portrait,” he stammered.

“And food. We have plenty to spare,” she said, ignoring his comment. The portrait didn’t do justice to the woman who stood before him. Her skin was the color of fine porcelain, her rich auburn hair piled high onto her head the way he’d seen fancy ladies in San Francisco wear theirs. She wore a red velvet dress that accentuated her curves in a way that made Lee think of things other than his trip to Fort Stockton. She stepped up to him. Her scent was intoxicating, her eyes hypnotic, and her body heat craving sex.

“Ma’am,” he said touching the brim of his hat as he stepped back and found himself buttressed up against a barstool. The woman moved closer to him, appraising him with her spectral eyes, which the artist, Lee noted, hadn’t fully captured. Without looking at Bruce she said, “Darling, aren’t you going to introduce me to this most remarkable man?”

“I can’t say who he is, Miss Phaedra,” Bruce the barkeep choked. He sloshed beer into a glass with a trembling hand. He set it down in front of Lee. “The girl will be bringing out your supper directly.” He shuffled his feet, then wiped sweat from his brow with the bar towel. “That’ll be ten cents for dinner and the beer.”

“It’s on the house,” Phaedra said, her voice husky as she stood nose to nose with Lee. Lee felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Her heat, her breath, her very essence pulsed of power and lust. Lee found himself yearning to bed her, then run away screaming afterward.

“It’s the least we can do for such a rude introduction,” she was saying.

“Yes Ma’am Miss Phaedra,” Bruce stuttered. “Livvy, get your lazy black ass out here,” Bruce shouted over his shoulder. “And Fetch some grub.”

A slave girl Lee judged to be around eighteen came out of the kitchen with a tray filled with food. She eyed Phaedra with a look of pure hatred as she dropped a platter of stew and cornbread down onto the bar with a clatter. She looked at Lee with wide expressive eyes. Bruce offered the girl a swift kick in her direction, which she expertly dodged as she scurried back into the kitchen.

“Clumsy slut,” Bruce muttered as he wiped spilled broth off the counter, shaking as if he had palsy.

“Go ahead, and enjoy,” Phaedra said as Lee looked doubtfully at the chunks of meat and potatoes. “Go on,” Phaedra prompted and Lee picked up his spoon and ate, noticing that the girl was hiding just beyond the doorway, staring at him, her expression inscrutable.

“And after you’re finished here,” Phaedra said as she mounted the barstool next to him and sat upon it as regally as a queen upon her throne, “come up to my room. We can have a nice talk.”

“If you don’t mind ma’am,” Lee said, “if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just be going.”

“Oh but you can’t,” Phaedra said, one long finely manicured finger tracing his bicep. “Just come up for a few minutes; that’s all I ask. It gets lonely out here...” Her voice faded as she stared out at the day riders who scurried out of the saloon like frightened mice, the doors swinging as if a gale force wind had struck it. “As you can see,” she added.

The sun offered a final blast of dull red light that etched sanguine squares upon the floor. The saloon girls melted into the darkness behind the stairwell. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bruce move his head slightly, his eyes large and round. Livvy, the slave girl, watched from the kitchen door. Lee put his hat on and eased off the barstool. “I best be getting on,” he said.

“On your way to where? And out in the dark too?” She smiled at him and his bowels turned to frozen mush. There was daylight streaming from the windows a few minutes ago, he was certain of that. Faded red from the sun that seemed loathe to set. But now...Lee’s Adam’s apple did a quick two step.
How had night fallen so quickly?
He wondered.
How did I lose my sense of time? When did the slave girl light lamps which were burning brightly on the tables?
He absently fumbled for his grandfather’s watch then couldn’t remember why he needed it.

“Are you afraid of me?” Phaedra asked.

She’s right
, Lee realized.
I’m scared of her.
The scarlet beauty who sat so close too him didn’t walk in beauty like the night, but somehow was the night.
Lovely Phaedra of the wicked eyes,
Lee thought.
Phaedra...the woman/queen who smells of death and life; of hushed and obscene things done in the dark where no decent man should see.
Lee felt foolish. Casey was just a town. Sure, it was an oddity perched out here alone on the rim of the Permian basin, but a town nonetheless. And Phaedra, as fancy and as terrifying as she seemed, was in reality only a woman. . . Wasn’t she?

He laughed and said, “No offense ma’am, but I’ve never been scared of a woman in my life. Except maybe my ma when she got riled, but...” His voice trailed off.

Phaedra laughed and moved closer. Lee‘s hand slipped to his gun and before he could consider drawing, she placed her hand on top of his. Her hand was smooth, soft, and cool. An image of what he longed for her to do with those hands arose in his mind. He repressed a disturbing urge to grab her by the forearms and pull her toward him, or better yet, pull her into the dark recesses of the saloon, where they could do things in the moment of heat that Lee could never tell the local parsonage.

“Surely you’re not going to pull that thing on me, are you?” she asked, smiling, her eerie eyes never leaving his.

That smile. Lee was lost in that smile. Lost and bewildered as a man could get. He was vaguely aware of her taking his gun, the pistol sliding out of the holster as slowly as a death march. And Bruce, the ever present and ever frightened bartender, took the Colt .45 from her.

“Come on,” Phaedra coaxed. “I won’t hurt you. How could I? I’m just a woman after all. I’m just a sad and lonely woman stranded in a mediocre town with no real intellectual stimulation. It gets so lonely out here, seeing the same people day after day, doing the same things, day after day. I just want a little conversation.” She smiled, her lips pallid in the kerosene glow, her eyes shining as if they had been polished with silver cleaner. Behind the bar, Bruce the bartender whispered the 23
^rd
Psalm in Spanish.

“Come,” Phaedra coaxed, taking Lee’s hand and giving it a gentle tug. Lee found he couldn’t resist as she pulled him closer. His mind became a thin and faraway thing that Phaedra blew away with the touch of her lips.

He allowed her to lead him up the stairs, around the landing and down to the last door on the right. She opened it and he, feeling as if he were sleepwalking, went inside.

Chapter Three

Lee woke up under water. Astonished, he flailed about, his hands slipping along the sides of something slick, hard and metallic. The water was murky brown and contained the coppery taste of blood and sex. He could hear the rumbling roll of what could have been boots clomping nearby. As Lee’s mind cleared, he realized he was in a tub. His fingers explored the edges until he found the rim.

Lee gripped the rim and tried to pull himself up but he was too weak. His grip failed him and his hands slid back down into the water. Before he could consider the concept of being under water and not dead, a hand plunged in beside him. It searched for a few moments, then it grabbed Lee by the hair and yanked him up out of the tub. The heavy copper bathtub overbalanced and fell with him and he landed with a slick thump onto the floor in a violent gush of blood and water. Most of the blood he noted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness of the room was his own.

Lee expected a strong burning sensation in his nose and throat as he expelled the water, but found there was no pain at all. In fact, there was no breath at all. Before he had a chance to contemplate this new and even more disturbing dilemma, someone grabbed his legs and dragged him across the water soaked rough hewn floor and dumped him against the far wall. He groaned as something hard and cold as death was clamped on one ankle. He struggled to sit up as he heard the disquieting rattle of uncoiling chains. A man’s boot appeared in Lee’s field of vision. He watched, helpless, as the boots’ owner planted it on his chest and shoved. Lee uttered a waterlogged groan as he slid down the wall and landed with a pronounced thump onto his side. He felt the heavy heel of the boot against the back of his neck. “Tie it down fast, Joe,” said a voice above him. “You know how tricky these bastards can get, especially if they ain’t et yet.”

There was considerable rattling and hammering. Lee tried to push the boot on his neck away, but he was as weak as an old woman with consumption. After what seemed like an eternity, Lee’s mind came into focus; sharp and frighteningly clear. He was being shackled to the floor. The man still had his foot on Lee’s neck, and another man working just past Lee’s peripheral vision was making sure the chain was held fast by a plate currently being screwed to the floor next to the wall.

“I’m going to kill you all,” he whispered.

The man with the foot on his neck grounded it down harder. “You ain’t up to killing nothing, except maybe a roach or two if you get hungry that is. And if you’re a good boy we’ll bring you a nice juicy rat in a coupla days.” The man above him laughed. Lee felt rage course through him. The men stood up and moved away. The boot was removed from Lee’s neck but made a forceful swing to his face. Lee rolled out of the way and the boot tip struck him between the shoulder blades. He grunted in anticipation of pain, yet there was none.

As quickly as the men came, they departed, closing the door behind them. Lee heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being drawn, locking him in.

Lee slowly crawled on hands and knees until he came to the wall. He propped himself up against it, water still leaking from his mouth and nose. He placed his hands on his chest, expecting to feel the natural rise and fall of his ribcage. He started, shocked, when there was none.
I can’t feel my breath
. He placed his hands on his sternum.
I can’t feel my heart. But I felt the man’s boot on my neck, even though I didn’t really hurt, I still felt it. He paused, considering, No, it was more like remembering what it felt like to have someone’s foot on your neck. How can I be alive when I’m not breathing and my heart has stopped?
He swallowed hard, and realized with some relief that at least was still working. What happened to me? He bit his lower lip and thought.
That bitch...what did that bitch do?

I’ve got to get out of here,
Lee thought, panic rising
. I’ve got to get out of this insane town. I’ve got to find that devil woman and I’ve got to get her to undo whatever it was she did.

Instead, he lost consciousness. He slept, propped up against the wall, his dreams a scattering of disturbing images colored in blood. Just as Lee thought he was getting a handle on what his feverish mind was trying to tell him, a great cold blast of water slammed him in the face. Lee woke with a startled gasp. Bloody water spilled into great rivulets onto the floor. He shook his head and regretted it instantly. He leaned against the wall, feeling sick and disoriented. He heard the thumping of boots and peeled his eyes open long enough to see one of the day riders he met the night (was it only last night?) before moving quickly out of his range. The man was carrying a bucket, the sunlight glistened on it and it made him feel violently ill. Lee turned away. “She got you good didn’t she, boy?” the day rider snickered. Before Lee could respond, the door opened and closed again. Once again he heard the bolt slide back.

I’ll kill you next,
Lee thought.
After I do away with that she devil, I’ll come get you. I’ll come get all of you.

Lee looked down at his legs. His right leg was shackled in a manacle he’d seen used to transport slaves to market, or prisoners to the gallows. A long thick chain was bolted onto a cast iron plate on the floor. He pulled at the chain but it held firm. He moved into the dim reddish light. He leapt back, crying out as the sunlight scalded him. It felt as if he’d been branded. The sickly sweet smell of burning decaying flesh filled the air. He fell as he tried to flee the light and scuttled away into a darkened corner of the room. The darkness was cool, soothing, and most of all, healing. He turned around and looked at his right flank and upper thigh where the sunbeam struck him. He stared in astonishment as the charred flesh healed itself. He leaned against the wall, his body heavy, his head throbbing and dull, his thoughts as scattered as leaves on an autumn wind. And there was something else as well. It was a profound deepening ache within him, a strange craving for something, something that his befuddled mind couldn’t name.
Where had she gone?
He asked himself.
Where was the bitch? There was a woman...

Lee sat, naked with his legs stretched straight out and his head lolling a bit, his flank complaining of an acidic burn, the chain on his ankle dead cold and curiously itchy. The deepening craving descended on him once again. His belly rumbled. His loins began to stir.

****

As if on cue, Lee heard the sound of hard soled cowboy boots clomping up the stairs. The bolt slid back and the door opened. Two men—the day runners Lee had seen earlier—forced a very reluctant gentleman wearing a gambler’s jacket into the room. Lee’s perceptions sharpened, he could smell the fear and sweat on the men, could almost taste their blood. Lee moved. The gentleman whimpered as he struggled to free himself. “Please,” the man pleaded with the day riders. “Please don’t. I’ll pay back what I owe; hell, I’ll give you all the money I got, just let me send a wire to Fort Stockton. I’ll do anything just please oh God not this.”

Ignoring the man’s entries, the day riders tossed the man into the room with Lee, then bolted the door shut. The man ran to the door, beat on the rough wood, rattling the lock in panic. “Hang me, shoot me, send me to prison for the rest of my life. Hell, give me to the Comanches if you’ve got a mind to punish me, but for God sakes don’t leave me in here with
that thing.”

Lee barely listened. His eyes tracked the man pounding on the door with the cunning of a rattlesnake about to strike. The man sensed it too, and whimpered like a little boy. “Please, mister,” he sniveled. “Please don’t. I admit it. I cheated. But it was a little cheat. Hell, there wasn’t fifty cents in the kitty. Please spare me and I swear to the Almighty I’ll never gamble again.”

Lee didn’t respond, but watched the man as he slid closer to the window, still simpering, still crying like a lost little boy as he eased closer still to the window.

Lee struck so fast that his prey had no chance to respond. He broke the man’s neck in one fluid motion, and then, as he let hunger take control, he fed.