The Taste of Sweet Revenge

CW: alcohol and death.

The burning sensation in his throat subsided after his fourth drink. Or was it his fifth?

Nights like this make it easy for John to succumb to the intoxication feeling from whiskey, anything to take away the memories he tries so hard to wipe away. Leaning against the scratched and chipped wooden bar, with bullet holes still yet to be patched, John places the empty glass on the tabletop, he signals to the bartender asking for another refill. In no time Logan fills the glass and John places another coin on the bar before drinking the refill in one whole gulp.

“Rough day?” asks Logan with a hint of worry in his voice. He has never seen John drink this much since he arrived on horseback to Silver Springs three months ago. Just like hundreds of others who stroll through Silver Springs as they make their way out West, with hopes of starting a new life with newfound gold. But Logan can sense that something isn’t right with John tonight.

A throaty chuckle comes out of John, “You can say that.” He flexes his filthy, calloused hands, glancing over the scars from working on the ranch. It took some time, but quickly he adapted to the lifestyle of a cattle rancher, someone who works solely with his physical body instead of using his head. Someone who wakes up at the crack of dawn and doesn’t finish until way past sunset. Now that winter is coming, he will have to get used to the chill-snapped air cutting into his cheeks and the dry, cracked skin on his hands.

At first, learning the ways of this new life kept him busy, both mentally and physically. Busy enough to keep away the reasons why he fled home. Keep down the persistent thought that they will find out the truth, and know what he did. But every day John mentally goes through how it went down, and he reassures himself that there is no way for them to find out. But something deep down tells him that he didn’t get away as clean as he thought. He hoped his consciousness would ease as time went on, as he slips closer and closer to freedom. But instead, a clock ticks in his head, and lately he can’t help but feel his time is about to be up.

“This will be your first winter in the Midwest?” asks Logan, taking a guess on what could be worrying John so.

“Is it that obvious?” jokes John.

Logan flashes him a sympathetic smile while drying off a glass, “I’ve seen worse.”

The saloon rustles with the noises of rowdy cheers and laughter. The sound of clanking glasses and the piano playing. John wishes he could join his fellow townsmen tonight in a round of poker, wanting to feel the camaraderie and sense of belonging this place has been giving him, but he already played several rounds and lost too much money this week alone. He knows suspicions would be raised if he dropped in for another round or two. So instead, he drinks alone, for the first time since he’s been in Silver Springs.

One of the saloon doors swings open, sending a gust of cold night air into the place. Only John and Logan turned their heads to get a look at the incomer, while the rest of the saloon’s inhabitants take no notice. An average-sized man walks in, tired from a day’s work out in the field. In a small town like this, the real townspeople know everyone, and seeing a new face causes all sorts of commotion. Being in this town for a few months, John has seen and gotten to know just about everyone in Silver Springs, which is how he knows this man is a newcomer. A newcomer who is only strolling by to make some money, and then continue on their journey once a few weeks have gone by.

“Who’s the Johnny-come-lately?” asks John.

“That’s Jesse McCloy, Mack’s new wrangler. Came in just a few days ago from Haver Falls.”

“Mack’s new wrangler, huh?” John eye’s Jesse, already gathering pieces of information on him before he could even utter a word. The man still wears his cowboy hat, with the rim tipping downward which casts a shadow over his eyes. His ear-length black hair is sweaty and stuck to the back of his neck. John can see his nose is freshly broken; he can’t help but wince at how utterly painful it must be. And a big purple bruise covers the right side of his chin, and the right side of his whole face is slightly swollen. From this alone, John already knows that this is not a man to mess with. This man screams trouble all over it. Someone he knows he should avoid at all costs.

“Hey there, Mr. McCloy,” Logan calls out to the newcomer, “Nice to see you again.”

Jesse turns his attention to Logan. Unable to see his eyes, John can only think he is staring directly at Logan. He tips his hat downward, “Howdy, Mr. Blithe. Nice place you got here.” The man speaks with a southern accent, but one that John is not unable to decipher where from.

“Eh, it’s the best we can do in this town. What can I get for you?” asks Logan once Jesse reaches him at the bar, taking a seat right next to John.

Jesse looks down at John’s empty glass, “I’ll have what he’s having, plus another round for my friend here.”

Logan grabs another glass and fills both up with whiskey. “Jesse McCloy, this is John Traverse, he works in the cattle ranch down by the lake. Came to Silver Springs just a few months ago.” Both men nod politely to one another, then take a sip of their whiskey.

“What brings you here to Silver Springs, Jesse McCloy?” asks John.

“Same for everybody else, I suppose. Money, a chance of getting a piece of land of your own, start anew,” Jesse pauses to take another sip of his whiskey, then looks over at John, still his eyes are hidden away in the shadow. “What brought you here, Mr. Traverse?”

John didn’t mean to take a while to respond, he blames his drifting mind for being on his a-game. “Life’s too short to stay only in one place all your life, don’t you think Mr. McCloy?”

“Sounds to me you are running from something, Mr. Traverse.”

A stomach-turning feeling starts in his stomach. He knows he needs to tread carefully. “What happened to your face?” asks John after finishing his glass, not caring if his question comes off in a rude way.

“A donkey.” Jesse finishes his glass, then motions for Logan to pour another.

An eruption of roars and the sound of glass breaking diverts the men’s attention to the corner of the saloon where the poker games are held. John doesn’t even have to ask; he knows that someone cheated and got caught.

“Hey! What did I say last night? No more breaking of my glasses!” yells Logan as he makes his way over to the table of the rowdy men. “Now get out before I have to get the sheriff here to drag your sorry asses back home.”

John and Jesse watch as the men drunkenly make their way out of the saloon, leaving them to be one of the last remaining ones. Two filled glasses of whiskey wait in front of them on the bar top. John, not ever to be one to say no to a free drink, downs it. While Jesse only drinks half.

“I think it’s also time for me to call it a night too. Thanks for the drinks,” says John as he stands up, grabs his hat, and makes three paces to the door.

“Do you miss it?” asks Jesse loudly over his shoulder.

Confused and thought he misheard; John turns back around. “Do I miss what?”

“Your old life, Mr. Traverse. Or should I say, Mr. Brandt?”

Panic strikes him then, all the blood he had running through his veins goes ice cold. He hoped he misheard him, but John knows deep down that he did indeed hear him correctly.

“Was it easy to leave? Easy to continue on your life knowing you completely destroyed a family?” Jesse looks up directly at John over his shoulder. John can feel his eyes staring into his, but he cannot look the man back in the eye. “Or was it the idea of all that money that made it worth it to kill all of them?” Jesse takes off his hat and places it calmly on the bar top. This time John looks directly at his face and sees deep clear blue eyes glimmer before him. He has only seen eyes that shade of blue once before. Eyes of the woman he has always loved, but could never have, no matter how hard he tried.

Slowly he can now see how her allusion has fooled him. Her perfect button nose has been destroyed to bits. Her sweet angular face is now so bruised and swollen that it has become unrecognizable. Her long, soft black silk hair is now ratted dry and cut short. Gone is the pristine angelic woman he knew. And he knows it is all because of him.

“Clara…? Is it you?” John barely mutters. Slowly he makes his way back to the bar and collapses on the barstool in shock.

“I know it was you,” says Clara in a voice with a higher pitch, her true voice. John can hear the anger, disdain, and need for revenge in it. “I know it was you who killed my father and brother.”

“Clara, I…” starts John, attempting to clarify. But his voice catches in his throat, blindsided by getting found, despite the small part of him that always knew this could happen.

“You know my mother died the next day,” says Clara as she stands up and walks two paces to John, being no less than a few inches away from him. “It broke her heart that not only did we have our whole fortune get stolen, but my father was murdered, and the police placed my brother as the prime suspect.”

John looks down at his feet, unable to stare into Clara’s storm-raged eyes, but she forces his chin back up, unable to look away. Suddenly he feels lightheaded, his breathing has become desperate and weak. “I knew my father was meeting with you and Harrison about who would inherit the company,” continues Clara. “I knew my father decided to split it between you and Harrison. I knew once I stood inside his office, their bodies cold and lifeless on the floor, that you were the one who murdered them. You were always so power-hungry that you couldn’t accept any other option besides having it all. And then you decided to hurt the family that treated you as one of their own when you couldn’t have it your way.”

Clara leans forward, her lips are barely an inch away from John’s ear. “You never deserved any of it, William,” she whispers, then faces John once again with a smile so sinister it makes John’s stomach churn.

John tries to raise his arm and reach out to Clara. But his arm stays still right where it is, hanging by his side. And now that he thinks about it, he can’t feel, yet move, his toes or fingers either.

Clara takes a step back, giving John room, ignoring the sheer panic running through him. “Now before any rash decisions are made,” she looks accusingly back at John, “as we have seen where that led to last time, I think you should be able to tell me the truth. A trial, so to speak. Let you prove your innocence. And from there, the jury can come to a verdict on what should be done.”

John tries to speak, but all that comes out are gurgled attempts. Wide-eyed, he stares back at Clara in utter horror, piecing together what is happening. What she did. What she is going to do.

“Can’t prove it, can you William?” says Clara. “Maybe if you didn’t take your eyes off your last drink, you could have had a chance.” Clara reaches behind the bar, and grabs the bottle of whiskey, drinking it straight from the bottle. “Seems we have come to a verdict. Don’t you think, Mr. Blithe?” John didn’t notice when Logan stood by them behind the bar, he thought they were alone. Without taking her eyes off John, Clara reaches inside her jacket lapel, takes out a thick envelope, and hands it to Logan. “Your exceptional service and discretion are much appreciated Mr. Blithe.”

Logan, not looking at John, takes the money and walks away. Somewhere where he can’t witness what will happen next.

John’s eyelids start to feel heavy, every inch of his body feels weighted down, as if he may collapse to the floor at any minute. Until he does, all he can do is look up at Clara as she hovers right above him. “I think drinking yourself to death would be quite a believable cause. Especially with the amount you had tonight, and with Mr. Blithe’s testimony, there would be no dispute about it. No investigation.”  

He tries to keep his eyes open as long as he could, but eventually, he succumbs to it. He can slowly feel himself drifting away.

“There’s nothing quite like the taste of sweet revenge,” says Clara after she takes another sip of whiskey. That would be the last thing William Brandt ever heard.