Dream About Getting Shot In The Head
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After the funeral, Susan took a walk. She didn’t want to spend an evening in the house with her husband’s family around. Instead of leaving immediately afterward, she decided to go by the post office. After all, it was only four blocks away and had been open since early that morning.
The thought of hearing mail being delivered again almost made her laugh out loud. Her life at that moment seemed to revolve around the post office as she walked there, then back home. It was a good place for gossip as well. Susan had heard some about what had happened in town from people who knew the people involved.
Mostly they agreed it was a terrible accident but the fact that Tom had been shot twice in the back had led them to believe something might have gone wrong with his business and he was forced to flee for his life. That, they said, was why he had hired the men in Colorado to protect him.
Now that was a story Susan would love to hear more about, so when she left the post office and went into one of the stores nearby for a glass of lemonade, she made a point of stopping at the cashier’s desk and asking if anyone had heard anything new or interesting.
“There are a lot of rumors flying around,” said the middle-aged man behind the counter. “It’s amazing how fast news travels in small towns.”
Susan listened intently to his words as he poured lemonade for her.
“The one thing I don’t understand is how someone got a gun up on the train and no one noticed it,” he said, looking directly into Susan’s eyes as he talked.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
He glanced toward the window and smiled before going on. “I think it means there’s not a person in town who doesn’t know how the bullet went through Tom’s body, even though his hat had fallen down over his face at the time.” He stopped abruptly, his eyes darting around the store. “You’re not listening to me, are you? I’m saying it’s strange that no one noticed a gun was fired.”
“Oh, yes,” said Susan. “I am listening very closely.”
***
Susan watched in disbelief as Tom pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to her. The paper was crisp and white as it came straight from a machine, just like those in New York City. The handwriting on the front of the envelope, which was printed with “U.S. Mail,” was bold and legible and she didn’t hesitate for an instant as she took the letter and slipped it inside her dress.
It could be nothing but bad news—a report on Tom’s condition, something about a bill in the mail that must have been delayed due to the death of her husband. But Susan couldn’t shake the feeling that if she didn’t find out what this meant now, she never would.
She waited until everyone else had gone to bed before slipping out of the house. She wanted to do some reading while she ate her supper so she went directly to the library in the basement, where the lights were still on. There was no clock but she guessed it was after ten o’clock.
Susan sat at the desk by herself as she read over the letter once more. When she finished, she stood up quickly and went to the small chest in the corner of the room, where she took out a handkerchief and placed it in her pocket before taking a few steps to look out the window. It was a clear night with the moon bright and the stars shining.
After she was sure the others had gone to their beds, Susan returned to the desk, picked up the letter again, and read it a third time. This was her first official act as postmistress, something Tom had taught her how to do when she’d come to live at the house.
Tom had taught her many things about being a woman alone and how to run the house. He had even given her a few pointers on how to deal with customers. That was another one she would have to remember tonight as she walked across the street to the boardinghouse and asked the landlady for a room.
***
“I don’t know who he is,” said Susan softly as she opened the door to the little apartment that was attached to the back of the boardinghouse. “But he’s not Tom.”
As she looked around the dark, tiny room, she saw that the furniture had been pushed to the wall to make room for a bed. One dresser was filled with clothes, including a pair of shoes she hadn’t seen before.
When Susan turned on the lamp, a man with dark brown hair and eyes that reminded her of Tom appeared. Her heart thumped so loudly she thought he could hear it. She stepped closer to him and felt the air leave her lungs. He was much bigger than Tom had been but there was a strong resemblance. “Are you my husband?” she whispered.
His lips parted and he nodded his head slowly. He took a step toward her, looking puzzled by her reaction.
“Who are you?”
“It’s all right,” said a soft voice from the doorway behind the man. “I’ll go.”
Susan glanced past him into the dark hallway as if she expected someone else to appear. The man moved back into the living area, closing the door to the bedroom part of the room.
“How long have I been gone?” she asked as soon as she realized that there were two men in the room with her.
The dark-haired man spoke before his friend answered. “A year now, Mrs. Burke, a year since your husband passed away.” He turned and faced the other man. “This is my brother, Sam,” he said as he went over to the chair and sat down, patting the seat beside him. “Sam, this is Mrs. Burke—she lives next door.”
“You knew?” Susan was confused, wondering if she was seeing things.
“Tom left no one here at the house,” Sam explained. “There was nothing for you to know.” His words were gentle as they came out of his mouth.
She turned toward the window, not wanting to look at him, not believing that she was hearing anything remotely related to the truth about Tom. But she saw something familiar in his eyes, an expression she knew all too well—a look of pain.
A sudden memory flashed through her mind, like a movie on fast-forward, of the night Tom had come back. He’d taken off his clothes and lay naked in bed with her, holding her hand as she watched him sob quietly. It had been a terrible thing for her to see, yet she had felt so helpless.
And it had been Tom who’d told her everything—told her why he had left, what he was doing, and what he wanted to do, which was nothing to her or anyone else. It hadn’t been Tom’s secret to share with the world.
But Sam was looking at her. The pain was gone from his eyes and his voice sounded normal. “You can have my room while you stay here,” he said kindly. “It will be a lot nicer than the other place where you slept before.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling guilty for even thinking that. She went to the desk to put her bag on it and noticed some mail on top. Her stomach suddenly clenched up when she realized that the letters were addressed to her and she recognized her husband’s name. They were all dated a year ago. “I have to find Tom,” she said as if the answer were obvious.
Sam got up slowly. He stopped by the bed and put an arm around her shoulder. She felt warm and safe as she leaned into him. “Why?” asked Sam as if he couldn’t understand. “He left you all alone, remember? And I’ve heard from him since then, every time he was able to send me money.”
“But he’s dead.” Susan tried to pull away. But Sam held her tighter as she continued to struggle. “What’s wrong with you?” she said when the man didn’t respond.
The two brothers looked at each other with identical expressions. They seemed to be trying to communicate silently through their eyes and it made her feel uncomfortable. It was the look of pity she’d seen before—when they’d brought her into the station house to answer questions about Tom. “Tom was killed by some bad men,” said Sam finally.
Susan gasped.
“He was shot—” began the dark-haired man as if it could never happen.
“He’s not dead,” Susan corrected sharply. “I saw him with my own eyes. I’ll take you there so you can see that for yourself.”
As soon as she’d said it, she knew she should have kept her mouth shut. It had been an impulse that came out of nowhere; she’d simply spoken out of grief and frustration. It would be no good telling them about her vision now.
It wasn’t going to make any difference in her life—it had only come about because of some strange connection with Tom’s spirit. If anything, she felt foolish, but she wasn’t about to apologize. The thought of seeing Tom again filled her with hope. “It will mean a lot to me,” she whispered.
Sam went over to his brother and touched his arm.
“We have to do something about it first,” said Sam quietly, still staring into the dark hallway. He nodded toward her. “That woman who was with Tom has to be stopped.”
“She doesn’t need stopping,” replied his brother, sounding irritated. “Tom was the one who told her what he did for a living—it was his fault all along.”
“But she was going to take care of us—”
“And you don’t think it’s right?”
“Of course, we don’t,” said Sam, shaking his head. “You know how she was. I don’t think Tom could have stood the sight of her anymore after she started taking off her clothes at the house.”
“I’ll get the key,” said Susan quickly before Tom’s brothers could start another argument. She grabbed her bag and hurried outside.
She walked to the stable where they always kept her horse. The place had changed since Tom left her; she couldn’t help wondering if it would have stayed empty for long except for his sudden departure.
The horses looked as well-fed as they had when Tom lived there, but they weren’t interested in any attention from her. They seemed to sense her misery and turned their noses away from her hand. They were probably used to a man around here, Susan realized with a sigh. When she put her arms around them, she didn’t feel much better.
It took five minutes to ride out to Tom’s place. By the time she’d reached it, Susan’s stomach felt like a stone. She hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast and she wasn’t sure if it was nerves or hunger that made her feel queasy. As soon as she got close to the house, the wind came up strong.
It whipped the white curtains into the yard and scattered them across the ground. It was too early in the day for that kind of wind and it frightened her. Susan went back to the stable.
“I’ll be here for a while,” she told Sam with a smile, feeling relieved.
Sam’s eyes narrowed when he saw the house. He didn’t respond and just nodded toward the door.
Susan took a deep breath before going in. She tried not to look at the floor of the front room. Instead, she focused on the kitchen where the table still stood with a vase holding flowers. Tom used to love to garden.
Now the place seemed too bright and too silent. She walked through the front hall, trying to keep her mind off what lay ahead, but the smell of damp earth from the flower garden drew her in. The plants seemed to have thrived even without a caretaker. She touched one and then another.
When she got back inside the front room, she found the men standing there looking as lost as she felt. “Let me get some things for you,” she said, reaching for her bag.
Sam grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute.” He looked from her to Tom’s brothers and back again. “Why is she here?”
“Who?” asked his brother, who had also come forward.
“Don’t lie to me, girl,” snapped Sam.
“It’s nothing important—” began Susan when a knock sounded on the door.
Sam swore loudly and reached for the gun on the mantel. Before he could pull it out of its holster, two more shots rang out.
“Run!” yelled Susan, pulling free of Sam’s hold. “Get out of here now!”
A third shot rang out. She threw herself down the hallway and stumbled into Tom’s brother.
They fell to the floor.
As soon as he was safe, Sam ran down the stairs. As he’d feared, the intruder had gone straight to the room where Tom kept his weapons. When he stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind him and locked automatically.
“You shouldn’t be here!” he bellowed. “Now I’ll have to kill you.”
He pulled his gun from his holster and aimed it at the lock, but that did little good because he couldn’t see what was inside the room. His only option was to blast away and hope he didn’t hit anyone. Sam squeezed the trigger twice, hitting nothing and feeling like a fool for coming so far for nothing.
The door opened, startling Sam. It wasn’t an intruder; it was Tom. The man had been in the middle of packing and had just taken another shot at the locked door. A bullet grazed Tom’s chest and he turned his eyes toward Sam, shaking with anger. “I warned you,” he said coldly before firing one shot after another into the door. “You should have run—you’re dead if you stay here—”
“Don’t listen to him,” cried Susan from somewhere in the house.
“What are you doing?” Tom asked, still shooting at the door.
“I told you to leave, didn’t I? You’ve got no business here—it’s a trap! Now get out of my sight and don’t come back until I say so!”
Tom stood there staring at her in disbelief. “That’s not possible.”
Sam came out of the house with his gun aimed at Tom’s back. “Where were you?”
“Out front,” said Tom, trying to walk past Sam. But when the other man reached for him, Tom spun around to take another shot at the door. “It’s not safe for you to be here,” he added. “Go on, both of you. Go!” He pointed the gun at his brothers. “Get out of my sight or you’ll join him—”
“You’re going to shoot us?” yelled one brother, who hadn’t moved yet.
“Shut up! Now get out!” Tom yelled. “And don’t come back!”
Both brothers took a few steps away from the house and then stopped, looking unsure. Tom shook his head sadly and turned back toward the door. His eyes closed for a moment before he opened them. He looked down at his chest, seeing the blood pooling between his fingers.
“Don’t die, Tom,” said Sam.
The man smiled briefly. “Heavens no. I’ll just stay right where I am, thank you. And when I’m done I’ll go there. No need to worry about that.”
His voice faded and Tom leaned against the door, his face deathly pale. As he died, his eyes opened again. The room was quiet. It wasn’t long before he lay still and the blood-soaked the floor beneath his body.
Sam dropped his gun and then grabbed the nearest brother by the front of his shirt. “What did he mean by ‘you’ll join me?” he demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” answered Sam’s brother.
“Answer him!” yelled Sam, pulling hard to pull him outside. The man fell to the ground. “If we leave now, will you come too?” asked Sam.
“No, thanks,” the other man answered sullenly. “I won’t forget this.”
“You’d better not!”
He let go of Tom’s brother and stood alone in the house with his gun pointed at the body. A horse whinnied from inside and the men rushed through the house and ran outside. As soon as they were gone, he walked into the room where Tom had died. The man lay there, staring at nothing, so pale that the blood looked like black ink on his white shirt.
It seemed unreal to Sam, the way the intruder had been so casual when he shot Tom as if killing him were an everyday occurrence. It took some time for it all to sink in. He knew Tom was dead. What he didn’t understand was why.
Had he somehow stumbled upon Tom’s cache of guns? If so, what did he want with them? Or did Tom know something about the train robber who’d robbed the Union Pacific in Laramie and was now riding toward Fort Collins? Maybe that was it.
Did Tom know who the killer was or had the man killed Tom because of something he knew? But who would have told anyone else? There had never been a murder on this ranch since Tom came here. Not even the Indians.
The thought of what had just happened sent a shiver up Sam’s spine and made him feel nauseated. It seemed unbelievable that someone could be murdered on a quiet, peaceful night. Even after he was sure it had really happened, his mind was having a hard time accepting it.
How could it have come to this? It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He had no business being involved in Tom’s death—not anymore. He’d been a fool to think otherwise. All his life he’d worked hard; he deserved to be treated kindly by others—not shot dead on a bloody floor, surrounded by an abandoned house and empty barns.
Sam turned away from Tom’s corpse to face the doorway. He could see his brothers’ horses saddled and waiting for them outside. They looked worried and nervous, but they didn’t stop watching until Sam stepped out the front door and climbed into the saddle of his horse.
As he rode past them, neither of his brothers said anything, which was good. The last thing Sam wanted to do was tell them about what had happened at the ranch. If he did, he’d have to explain why Tom was still living there. That would make matters worse than they already were. His brothers might ask too many questions and get themselves hurt for their trouble.
He was halfway back to Laramie when his horse suddenly reared and then threw Sam off. He tumbled to the ground, feeling the pain of a broken leg shoot through his body and seeing the black horse go whirling down the trail without him.
“Damn!” Sam cursed loudly as he sat up, trying to push himself to a standing position. He tried to stand again and couldn’t. His left leg was useless. It was going to be very difficult if not impossible to get to town.
It was getting dark now. He saw the stars in the sky and the moon peeking above the mountains to the east. A cloud came out of nowhere and blocked the moon before it reached its peak. The night seemed darker, colder, and more oppressive after that.
He knew he should have stayed home, but there was no sense in turning back now. He could hardly move forward so he just waited for the storm to pass and the sun to rise.
It didn’t take long. The clouds disappeared as if they were never there, and the moon returned to its rightful place. Sam’s broken leg hurt more with every passing hour; even lying flat on the ground seemed easier.
He’d always been stubborn, though, and it was taking everything he had to sit still and wait for the storm to blow over. After all, his life was riding on this, too. There wasn’t much choice, either. He’d come far enough to turn back now, knowing that would mean losing everything, including his life.
He was sure to be shot the second he rode into Laramie or Fort Collins—if they didn’t hang him first. But maybe he could make it. He needed only two things: a good horse and someone to ride with him.
The next morning found Sam sitting under an old apple tree, waiting for the day to end. A little earlier, Tom’s brothers came by on their horses and stopped to offer Sam assistance. He told them they were his friends and didn’t want to cause them any trouble.
If they offered, they could help themselves to his supplies and feed, which he hadn’t had a chance to use since he’d been living alone here for weeks. He told them he was fine and asked them to continue on down the trail without him. In fact, they had. They’d been gone a long time now, riding toward Laramie and Fort Collins, leaving him to fend for himself.
Sam waited another day before trying to get up, then hobbled over to the well and used the bucket to pull water from the well. It took some effort to climb up the ladder to reach the bucket, but when he finally got there he couldn’t find the strength to lift it so he sat back down on the ground.
The End