oom: contention

[lasthalfmile]

what a waste of time, the thought crossed my mind
but I never missed a beat

Dan rides into Contention as the sun dips near the horizon, burning low and hot in the sky to the west. The feeling in his chest is strange. It's like...he needs to be here, for some reason, but he doesn't want to be here all the same.

His mare is tired and could use a rest, and Dan's tired of sitting in the saddle. What is normally a two-day ride, he's cut into one, with a little bit of help from whatever forces are at work.

Hooves clop softly against the earth as he heads down the main street. There is the sound of hammering, in the distance, and everywhere he looks, there are bullet holes pock-marking the facades of the shops and hotels. The earth has been torn up by foot traffic and horses alike, the tracks of wagons in the dust too.

He's not sure why he's here.

can’t explain the who, or what I was
trying to believe

The mare gets tied to a rail outside one of the saloons in town and Dan swings a leg over to dismount, brushing the dirt from his hat and his coat as he looks up at the sky. The clouds are rumbling, thick white and grey passing overhead, threatening to rain.

Dan carefully removes the saddlebag with the money and slings it over his shoulder. Same goes for the rifle he kept after he slammed it into Butterfield's knee. The stock still has a dark stain on it.

Blood.

For blood money.

The pistol is on his hip as he steps into the saloon slowly. Certainly ain't Milliways, but he could use a drink.

The girl behind the counter has brown eyes (not green) and black hair (not blonde) but there's something about her that makes him smile, just a bit. One drink, whiskey, turns into a second, before he excuses himself with a few coins on the counter and slips away, long shadows cast by the flames in the lanterns that hang overhead.

what would you do?

The first door is nothin' but a closet.

The second door is nothin' but a cellar.

The third door is at the top of the stairs, and it opens slow and quiet, save for a little creak in the hinges, dust in the joints. Dan looks cautiously into it.

"You got somethin' you're lookin' for in particular, sweetheart?"

He feels the hand on the back of his shoulder the same time he hears the voice, low and quiet, almost husky. She's got red hair and a calico...well it ain't really a dress but it's somethin', that's for sure. Dan turns and looks her over a moment, before he shakes his head.

"Just lookin' for the door, ma'am."

"Well, by the way you tipped Miss Paula downstairs, I'd dare reckon that you've got the...means to walk through mine."

what would you do?
do you know?

She kisses different than Alice does, his hands sliding over her skin, her lips against his. The rifle and saddlebag are leaning on a chair, near his boots. The gunbelt is looped over the footboard and her arms around his neck and something is wrong about all of this in his head.

He's married.

Was.

He's got a wife.

Had.

He's a father.

Used to be.

He's not like this.

Wasn't.

Dan feels an ache in his chest as he presses his lips against the curve of her neck, an empty hollow in the pit of his stomach, but something else is pressing at the back of his mind. The door. He needs to find a door. He needs to get out of this room and find a room with a door back to Milliways. He needs...

"What is it?"

She's resting her hands against his sides and she smiles down at him, red hair framing her lips as he she leans in to kiss him, softly. "You're a quiet one."

"Just thinkin'."

"'Bout what?" She pouts at him a little and lightly tugs at his lower lip with her teeth, giggling as her hands slide down his sides to his hips.

Dan opens his mouth to answer, make up some bullshit, but no words come out, his tongue caught as he realizes something. Ever since ending up at Milliways, he's had time to think. About that bridal suite in that fancy hotel, about watchin' the horizon for that puff of steam, about that watch in his hand, tickin' away as it all came down to one moment.

She looks at him and he just shakes his head. "Nothin'," he promises. "Just remembered...I ain't in no rush."

"Good," she says, before she kisses softly at his mouth. "Cause those means you got...good for all night."

i once had a grip on everything
it feels better to let go

He wakes up a few hours later with a hand brushing against his chest.

Dan shifts and opens his eyes and looks up at her, the way her hair is falling around her face...and the look in her eyes.

"What..?"

"You're bleedin'."

Something stops in his mind as he feels the ache in his chest and looks down, and sees the redness against his skin. She's already up and moving to get him a cloth to press against it, as he sits up.

"Just a scratch."

"And I'm a proper lady," she mutters. "That's a goddamn bullet hole, mister!"

"Wasn't..."

Wasn't bleeding before. Dan pulls himself out of the bed and starts to dress himself, quickly. "I gotta go."

"You need to see the doctor, I'm sure we can ring him, even if it's late..."

"No." It comes out quick, as he fastens his belt and then reaches for his guns. "I got to get goin', before I'm late. It'll be just fine, ma'am," he assures her, with a half of a smile, a little grim.

His throat feels dry.

Dusty.

never took the chance, could’ve jumped the fence
i was scared of my own two feet

She's upstairs counting the money he left on the table as he's throwing a leg up over the mare tied to that rail and glancing up and down the streets. It's dark, moonlight up in the sky.

He needs a door.

"C'mon, bar," he mutters, under his breath, as he moves slowly down the street, trying to peer into dark alleys and paths. "C'mon, just need a door, ain't that hard t'get me just one."

The black shirt is sticking to his skin, he can feel it against the air. It's cold, all of a sudden.

He's not sure why.

He needs a door.

couldn’t cross the line, it was black and white
no contrast to be seen

He tries every alley. Every stable. Every barn. A few saloons, but he stays away from that fancy hotel. He's not in a panic. He's not nervous. Everything comes up empty and he gets to thinking.

Maybe he shouldn't have laid with that fine woman.

Maybe he shouldn't have shot Butterfield that extra time.

what would you do?

Maybe he shouldn't have held up that coach.

Maybe he shouldn't have gone to his own funeral.

Maybe he shouldn't have stepped through that door.

Dan coughs into a closed fist and then glances down at his glove. Even in the moonlight, he can see the blood splattered against it. He's getting tired.

He's never tired.

what would you do?
do you know?

The mare knickers a protest as he nudges her in the sides a bit with his heels, turning her to the far side of town. There are cattle in the pen near the train track that runs to the east and west of town, mooing softly.

There ain't a door in sight.

Dan sighs and presses a hand against his chest, rubbing gently at the ache, ignoring the wetness he can feel (or at least he thinks he feels) even through his glove.

The sky is growing pink in the east.

Ben's probably already been to Bisbee, and he'll most likely head out straight away to the ranch, to make sure Mr. Butterfield takes care of Alice and the boys like he promised he would.

Except he broke that promise, and Dan had to come back to fix it.

was it all a joke, never had control
i’m not better on my own

Dan blinks, slowly.

The bar wouldn't keep him away for makin' himself happy, if even for an evening. The bar wouldn't keep him away for makin' sure that Butterfield got what he deserved for being a liar. The bar wouldn't keep him away for gettin' money for his family. The bar wouldn't keep him away for takin' one last chance to see his wife and sons, even if it was at his funeral.

The bar wouldn't keep him away for makin' sure things got set right.

But she would keep him away for not realizin' he did the right thing.

Dan holds lightly on the reins as he glances at the tiny train office, with the boarded up windows, and bullet holes against the cream colored paint. His eyes wander along the ground until he swears he can see the spot where the dirt is still stained red, but he's just imagining it.

what a waste of time
the thought crossed my mind

He chuckles under his breath and then pats the mare lightly on the neck.

"S'all right, girl. If I wasn't so thick-skulled we'd have already been back to that bar I was tellin' you about," Dan says, as he pulls back on the reins just slightly to turn her away from the shack. "But I promise, we'll get there 'fore you know it."

can’t explain this thing, or what I mean

He turns her towards the west, away from the rising sun, and towards a dark patch on the horizon. Almost like a building, the way the shadows play with the light, except instead of fine plate glass and paint, it's...

...trees.

Forest.

Contention doesn't have a forest on the outskirts of town.

Dan ignores the ache in his chest as he urges the mare into a gallop, and as they enter the stand, he takes one glimpse behind him at the sunrise and smiles.


i'm trying to let go