Bringing a knife to a gun fight
Trials of The Gunfighter
The heat lifted off the sand and threatened to cook him where he stood, gazing at the small church, slightly offset from the top of the small hill. The day was as bright as any he could remember seeing, and the fairly well tended lawn stood in stark contrast against the dirty grime of the town and dusty brown of the desert surrounding it. He didn't know what drew him to the tiny building, whether it be God or otherwise, but he knew it was a force determined to draw him in. He started up the small path.
Inside were a few small pews on either side of the building and a modest, makeshift podium where two young men stood. One was fair skinned and dressed in black. A thin white collar about his neck, and light-brown, thinning hair lining his head. The other wore an old ragged jacket and dirty pants. His thick, dark hair was oily and matted, as though he'd spent many nights out in the wild, recently. His dark skin made darker by long days riding in the harsh desert sun.
'Welcome, brother', the priest offered him as he stepped into the door. 'Padre' was as much as Jack offered, never taking his eyes off the other man, who turned to meet his gaze. Slowly, the eyes of the man in the jacket revealed his surprise and that he recognized this visitor. Jack quietly muttered 'I'm back. You killed my horse, but I'm back. Where is the one-eyed fella?'
The Mexican turned to face him squarely. He slowly pulled out a revolver and leveled it straight at Jack. He laughed a short, throaty laugh and announced 'Hah! Tu regresó? You are back, mi amigo? Your rest with the dead seems short.'
The priest seemed to protest as he announced 'Brothers! This is a house of God!', but Jack had already pulled the knife he had picked up on the road and ran forward. The Mexican pulled the trigger and released a bullet that struck him in the left shoulder. The hot lead felt like a mule's kick, but didn't slow Jack down as he closed the distance between the two men, charging up the aisle, between the pews.
Again, the man in the ragged coat fired two more shots, catching Jack in the gut and lung. Choking on his own blood, Jack grasped the Mexican's jacket, shoving the knife deep into his abdomen, the sharp blade slicing easily into his flesh. Jack felt his strength leaving him as his blood gushed out in spurts, but something strong and dark in him enabled him to pull the blade up until it struck rib bone. The two men fell to the ground, Jack perching upon the Mexican, to look him in the eyes.
Both men seemed to understand that death was imminent for the other, but as the Mexican struggled faintly to move his failing limbs, Jack remained on him, studying his dying motions. Then Jack whispered hoarsely to him 'I am the one they call Ha Vuelto. I am the dark fire that burns, and the cold earth waits for you. Make your peace with God.' Leaving the knife buried in him, Jack grasped the man's face and held it, watching his life fade away as his blood spilled out onto the floor. He pushed himself up to his knees before his own loss of blood sent him spiraling into darkness, falling limply to the floor.
Some time later he awoke to the sound of hushed voices outside the door he had entered. He recognized one of them as the young priest from earlier. The Mexican was next to him, lifeless on the floor. He felt his own abdomen and chest to inspect his wounds, only to find the raised flesh of scarring. 'What have I become? What am I?' he wondered to himself. Sitting up, he slowly shook his head and fought off the aches and pains of his condition. He got to his feet, then took the gun, belt and jacket from his deceased foe. 'You don't need these anymore, and the way I see it, you owe me for the horse' he mumbled. He pulled the knife from the dead man's chest, tucked it back into his pants and softly crept out a door at the rear of the church.