Retribution
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- 4 -
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They left Heyes to rest for most of the day. He was physically exhausted and in a lot of pain, and needed plenty of sleep to build his strength up.
At dusk, they took him some food in. Heyes was dozing, but stirred as they entered.
"Feeling better?" Lom enquired.
Heyes gave a vague nod, yawning tiredly.
"Hungry?"
Heyes shook his head.
Lom sat on the edge of the bed, "You have to try and eat, Heyes. You’ve had nothing for days. It’s only soup. Will you try some?" he coaxed.
Heyes gave a reluctant shrug. Curry noticed how he refused to meet their eyes.
Lom bent to help him sit up, wincing, mentally, at Heyes’ involuntary moan of pain at the movement.
"Do you remember what happened?" Lom asked, as Heyes sampled the soup.
Heyes opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking confused.
"Everything’s… sort of… jumbled up…" he muttered.
"Well, don’t worry about it. You just concentrate on getting well. There’ll be time enough to talk about it when you’re feeling better."
Heyes pushed the soup away after only having had a few mouthfuls.
"Sure you can’t manage any more?"
Heyes shook his head, rubbing his aching shoulder.
"Right." Lom decided not to try and push him, "Well, you get some rest. If you need anything, one of us will be right next door. Just holler." he told him, as he helped him ease back down in the bed, "O.K?"
Heyes nodded, not looking at them.
Lom and Curry left the room.
"Well, I think I’ll go and have a drink at the saloon." Curry told Lom, "And then I’ll turn in. I’m a bit tired myself."
"Fine." Lom replied, "You do that. I’ll keep an eye on him." he nodded towards Heyes’ room, slapping Curryon the shoulder.
Lom had some paperwork to catch up on, so he did that while Curry was out, pausing, occasionally, to check on Heyes, who was having a restless night. Lom guessed he was probably reliving his ordeal through his dreams. Later, he heard Heyes groaning. He put down his pen and went into the bedroom to find him thrashing about and muttering incoherently, his face beaded with perspiration. Lom wrung out a cloth and bathed his face which seemed to quiet him temporarily. He pulled the covers back over him and went back to his paperwork.
It was late when Curry returned, having drunk more than he intended and then got involved in a card game. Heyes was the better card player of the two and Curry had lot his money, but he was drunk enough not to care when he arrived back.
"Hi." He grinned tiredly at Lom.
Lom looked up from his paperwork, "Hi. Good night?" He didn’t begrudge him getting drunk. He needed something to help him relax. He was wound up tighter than a drum.
"O.K." Curry took off his hat and tossed it onto a peg by the door before flopping down into an armchair.
"Want some coffee?" asked Lom."
"No. I think I’ll turn in. I’m beat. How’s Heyes?"
"Having a rough night."
"Oh? Why?" Curry seemed to sober up abruptly, "Is he sick?"
Lom shook his head. "Just bad dreams I think. Now we’ve snapped him out of it, he’s probably reliving what happened in his mind."
"Oh." Curry gazed thoughtfully into the fire.
Lom continued with his paperwork, and when he next looked up Curry had fallen asleep with his head propped on his hand, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
Lom contemplated whether or not to wake him. He’d be stiff if he slept there all night. But he decided against it as a soft snoring reached his ears. With a smile, Lom got up and fetched a blanket and covered him, his sharp eyes noticing the shadows of fatigue under his eyes, two splashes of red on his cheeks, partly due to the amount of liquor he’d drunk and partly from the heat of the fire in front of which the armchair he was sitting in was placed.
He was just packing up for the evening when he heard Heyes calling out.
"No… please… no…"
He crept past the still snoring Kid into the bedroom, turning up the lamp a little.
Heyes had thrown off the covers and was tossing and turning in his sleep. His face was bathed in sweat and, when Lom reached down to touch him, he was very hot, pulling at the nightshirt he wore as though trying to get some air.
That’s all we need, Lom thought to himself, for him to get a fever now. He resigned himself to a sleepless night, going to fetch some more water and another couple of blankets. He placed the bowl of water and some cloths on a cupboard by the side of the bed, and then dragged an armchair over to the bedside, sitting down and wringing out a cloth to bathe Heyes’ face and neck before covering him up and placing another blanket on top. He would try to throw them off, but, if he kept him warm, Lom hoped, with luck, he would sweat it out by morning.
He crossed to close the door so as not to disturb Curry. He would want to sit with him, but he was worn out. He needed his rest too.
Lom wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and made himself comfortable in the chair.
He dozed off a couple of times, but, as the night wore on, Heyes’ condition worsened and he had little opportunity to sleep as Heyes alternately threw off the covers, as he burned up with fever, rambling unintelligibly, to then be gripped by fits of ague, shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering.
Lom wrapped the blankets around him, as he shivered, and bathed his face and neck to try and cool his fever.
"Sssh." Lom soothed, as Heyes cried out in anguish, in his delirium, afraid he would wake Curry in the next room.
Lom was woken, not aware of having fallen asleep, shortly after dawn, by Curry who had woken up in the armchair to find Lom missing.
"What’s up?" he whispered.
Lom stretched and yawned, "He started with a fever, so I thought I’d better sit with him. He’s been tossing and turning and rambling all night. I’m bushed."
"I’ll take over if you like." said Curry.
Lom glanced across at Heyes. He was sleeping peacefully at the moment, only the odd sigh and a slight frown on his brow giving any indication that he was dreaming at all, but, as Lom placed his hand on his forehead, it was still hot, his hair damp and clinging to his face.
"His temperature is still high." he said.
"It’s O.K. I’ll look after him." said Curry, "You get some shut eye."
"O.K." Lom stood up, "Thanks."
Lom left the room and Curry sat down in the armchair, studying Heyes’ face with an anxious expression.
Heyes remained in the grip of the fever for most of the day and Lom and Curry were kept busy tending to him.
But, by early evening, the fever was beginning to subside and Lom and Curry sat down together in the kitchen to eat supper.
"I’m beat." said Curry, feeling more tired after spending the day looking after Heyes than if they’d ridden fifty miles.
Lom nodded agreement, "He should sleep easier tonight. Fever’s almost gone now."
"I’ll stay with him." said Curry, "Just in case."
"No, I will." said Lom, "You’ve hardly had any sleep yourself this last few days. You need to get some rest too."
Curry reluctantly agreed.
After supper, they sat around the fire chatting over a few glasses of scotch.
Later, after Curry had turned in, Lom settled himself down to sleep in the armchair by Heyes’ bedside. He leaned over to place a hand on Heyes’ forehead. The fever had subsided now, but his temperature was still a little high, probably as a result of infection from the wound in his shoulder. But he was sleeping peacefully now, his breathing deep and even.
Lom wasn’t aware of falling asleep until Curry woke him the next morning.
"O.K?" he enquired.
Lom nodded, following him into the kitchen, "He slept right through, I think." he said, yawning.
Curry fixed them both breakfast while Lom sat at the table drinking coffee.
"I have to go into town later." Lom told him as they ate, "I have to be in Court this morning. But I should be back around four."
Curry nodded.
After breakfast, Lom went to get washed and dressed before heading off into town.
Curry cleared away their breakfast plates and tidied up around the cabin before going outside to chop some logs for the woodpile.
When he went in to check on Heyes, he was still asleep, so he went out onto the front porch and sat himself in an old rocking chair that Lom kept there. It wasn’t long before the warm sun had him stretched out and dozing.
It was almost lunchtime when he heard sounds from Heyes’ room. He got up and went inside.
"Morning, lazy bones." he smiled at Heyes, who was rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. He jumped, at the sound of Curry's voice, looking at him with an odd expression.
"Are you feeling better?" Curry asked. At Heyes’ puzzled expression he said, "You had a fever, you’ve been pretty well out of it for the last twenty four hours."
Heyes made no reply.
"Are you hungry?" Curry enquired.
Heyes gave a faint shrug, not looking at him.
"I’ll fix you something. You need to build your strength up." said Curry, leaving the room. When he returned, Heyes was gazing out of the window, his expression unreadable.
"Here." He set down the tray, "Lom had to go to work, so I’m playing house today." he joked.
Heyes gave him a disdainful look.
Curry bent to help Heyes manoeuvre into a sitting position, placing an extra pillow behind him, "Try some food." he coaxed.
Heyes took a few mouthfuls, and a glass of milk.
"It would be better if it were scotch." he remarked sourly, as he put down the glass, his eyes clouding as he suddenly remembered thinking the same thing the night of his capture as he’d sat watching Felton and his men drinking and playing cards.
"Scotch won’t help build up your strength." Curry's voice brought him back from his thoughts.
"I’m alright." he said sullenly, pushing the tray aside, the food barely touched.
"Are you?" Curry raised a questioning eyebrow.
Heyes glanced at him briefly, the pain in his eyes plain to see.
"I’ll be O.K." he muttered, looking away.
Curry sighed, "Do you need anything?" he asked.
Heyes shrugged. The way he felt at the moment, a new body would be welcome. He didn’t know which bit of him hurt the most.
"I could do with a bath." he muttered, thinking out loud as much as replying to the question, thinking that a long soak in a hot tub would ease some of his aches and pains.
"I don’t think you should try getting up yet a while." Curry told him, "But I could give you a wash over if you like."
Heyes looked uncertain, but he did need one. They had only managed to wipe a little of the blood and grime off him, and he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d last washed and felt filthy.
"Alright." he said eventually.
Curry went off to prepare some hot water and returned with it in a large bowl. He fetched some soap and towels and then turned to help Heyes sit upright and remove his nightshirt. Perspiration stood out on his face from the effort it took even just to do that, but he said nothing.
Curry squeezed out a sponge and then, while supporting him with one hand, carefully began to wash him, being careful not to wet the dressings on his shoulder, ribs and wrists.
"My God, Heyes," he muttered, frowning as he washed his lower back, which was black with bruises, "what did they do to you?" He had seen them rough him up, but he hadn’t realised just how badly they’d hurt him.
Heyes didn’t reply, and Curry didn’t push. He would talk when he was ready.
He picked up a towel and wrapped it around him, gently patting him dry, Heyes flinching when he touched a tender spot.
Curry got some fresh nightclothes and helped him into them, moving round in front of him to do up the buttons for him.
"You alright?" he asked worriedly.
Heyes nodded, although it was obvious that he was far from alright.
"Here, lie back and rest." said Curry, helping him to lie back down against the pillows, his face looking drawn.
Suddenly, he lifted a hand to cover his mouth, "I feel sick." he muttered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
"Wait." said Curry, as what little colour he had drained from Heyes’ face. He dashed into the kitchen and picked up another bowl, hurrying back into the bedroom with it.
"Here." He walked around the side of the bed and held out the bowl. A moment later, Heyes grabbed it and leaned over it, heaving.
Curry perched on the edge of the bed, steadying the bowl with one hand, his other gently rubbing Heyes’ back.
"Better?" he enquired, when Heyes finally leaned back against the pillows, rubbing his injured ribs, which now hurt even more after retching, beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead.
Heyes closed his eyes, giving a brief nod.
Curry poured some cold water into a basin on the cupboard, wrung out a cloth and dabbed at Heyes’ face with it.
Heyes pushed his hand away irritably, "Don’t fuss." he snapped hoarsely.
Curry sighed, putting down the cloth.
"Is there anything else you need?"
"No."
Curry took the bowls away and washed them out, returning several minutes later to check on Heyes.
Heyes glared at him as he entered the room.
"I’m still here." he said with sarcasm.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" asked Curry, looking puzzled at Heyes’ harsh tone.
"It means that you don’t need to keep checking up on me." he snapped, "I’m alright."
"Oh, sure. You look the picture of health!" Curry's tone was mocking.
"I’m alright." snapped Heyes, although in truth he felt like death warmed up, "I’m just… tired… I’d like to get some sleep, but I’m not going to get it with you in and out of here every five minutes am I?" he glared angrily at Curry
"O.K, O.K." Curry raised his hands, "I get the message. I’m gone." He withdrew, banging the door shut after him, confused by Heyes’ attitude. He wondered if Heyes was still mad at him for walking out the previous week, or perhaps blamed him somehow for what had happened after he’d left. Heyes wasn’t normally one to bear a grudge, but it was obvious that something was bugging him.
He couldn’t resist the urge to poke his head around the door forty five minutes later, expecting him to be asleep by now, but he was lying gazing blankly up at the ceiling. He turned his head to glare at Curry, who held up his hand apologetically.
"Sorry. I thought you’d be asleep by now." he smiled sheepishly.
"Leave me alone." Heyes said disdainfully, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.
Curry withdrew with a sigh, and didn’t dare go back in again.
He was relieved when Lom arrived home just before five o’clock.
"Hi, Lom. I’ve fixed supper for us."
"Thanks." said Lom, washing his hands and sitting down at the table.
Curry put two plates on the table and sat down opposite him.
"Is Heyes O.K?" Lom asked, tucking into the meal.
Curry sighed, "He says so."
"But?"
"Huh?
"I sense a ‘but’ in there."
Curry nodded, "You’ve seen him. Does he seem alright to you?"
"To be honest, no." replied Lom, "He looks like a man who’s been to hell and back."
"He’s been a nightmare today." Curry told him, putting his elbows on the table and raking his hands up through his hair, "Really moody. It’s so unlike him." He related the events of the day, telling him how Heyes had been sick and of his snappy comments.
"I expected it." said Lom, "From what you’ve told me, those guys deliberately set out to humiliate and degrade him. They did a good job. He doesn’t know where the hell he is right now. To put it bluntly, they broke him. He’s hurt, and angry, deep down inside, and it’s got to come out, or he’ll go crazy." He paused to take a sip of his coffee.
At Curry's anxious expression, he said, "Don’t worry. Heyes may look frail, but he’s as tough as they come. He’ll be O.K. Just give him time to work his way through his feelings."
They took some supper in to Heyes, who was quiet and withdrawn.
"The Doc sent these crutches up for you," Lom indicated the crutches, which the doctor had sent up the previous day, propped in the corner of the room, "if you want to try getting up for a little while tomorrow?" Lom suggested.
"I’ll see." Heyes muttered, "I’m still a bit sore."
Lom and Curry exchanged glances at the obvious understatement. It was obvious that Heyes was in a lot of pain, mentally as well as physically, but was unwilling to admit it.
"Do you feel up to telling us what happened?" Lom enquired.
Heyes looked up, briefly, at Lom, with wide, baleful, eyes, and Curry shuddered at their expression. This wasn’t the Hannibal Heyes he knew. He was like a stranger.
Heyes shook his head, looking down at his lap, an anguished expression on his face, and a brief picture flashed into Curry's mind, of a tearful nine year old. It was the day their parents had been killed by bushwhackers. Curry hadn’t seen it, he’d been out in the meadow, skiving off his chores, trying to catch fish in the stream that ran down from the hills. Heyes had seen it all as he’d hidden, terrified, in the bushes that ran along the perimeter fence of their farm, and, afterwards, had searched Curry out and tearfully recounted what had happened to his, and to Curry's, parents at their neighbouring farm. As he’d stood there, head bowed, wringing his hands, his words choked by sobs, he’d looked as he did now, lost, alone and scared. At seven, Curry hadn’t understood much about death, but he’d cried anyway because Heyes had told him their parents were gone forever, and Heyes had held him in his arms and told him not to worry, that he would look after him. He had refused to let him go back to see the devastation, waiting until he had fallen asleep before going back and packing up whatever he could find left undamaged in the burnt out ruins of their homes, which wasn’t much, before burying the remains of his and Curry's parents. Curry remembered watching him walk back towards him by the stream, carrying two small bundles containing the items he’d salvaged, his hands raw and bleeding from digging their parent’s graves, a ravaged look in his eyes. He had said nothing to him about it, but, later that night, when Heyes had believed him to be asleep, Curry had woken to see, in the moonlight, Heyes sitting by the water’s edge, knees drawn up in front of him, his arms folded round them, staring blankly out over the water, silent tears running down his face.
Heyes had never shed another tear in his presence from that day on, not even when, a few years later, Curry, needing to know the truth, had asked him to tell him exactly what had happened that day and how their parents had died. It hadn’t been pleasant to hear and must have been worse to see. Curry had wept again that day, but Heyes had just patted his shoulder, whatever emotions he felt about that dreadful day locked away inside him.
And Heyes had kept his word to look after him. Not that many people knew of those years. With no-one to provide for them, or guide them, life hadn’t been easy. At first they’d tried to stay on the straight and narrow, but, when no-one would give them work, because of their young age, and begging for food more often than not resulted in a clip round the ear, they had resorted to stealing, first food, then clothes, then money. They soon became skillful and, in a few years, they graduated to robbing banks and trains.
Curry glanced across at Lom. He knew more than most people about their past, but even he had no idea how hard they’d struggled to survive those early years. It had forged a bond between them that nothing and no-one could break. They disagreed frequently, fell out on occasions, and at other times, like now, would be at a loss to know how to help each other with a problem, but at the end of the day they were always there for each other.
He looked now at Heyes, head bowed, fiddling nervously with the bandages around his wrists.
"You’ll feel better if you get it off your chest." Lom was saying to him.
Heyes closed his eyes, and a nerve twitched in his jaw.
From where he stood, Lom couldn’t see the movement, but Curry could and he could see that Lom was pushing him too hard. He wasn’t ready to talk yet. He was too upset.
Instinctively, he stepped forward and laid a protective arm across Heyes’ shoulders.
"Leave it, Lom." he said quietly.
Lom looked into Curry's eyes, reading the warning glint in them. He nodded.
"If you want anything, just call." he told Heyes, before turning and leaving the room.
Heyes struggled to get further down the bed, grimacing at the pain flowing through his body as he moved.
"Let me help you." said Curry.
Silently, Heyes let him help him. Curry plumped up his pillows and smoothed the bedcovers. As he straightened, their eyes met and held.
Curry looked away first, unable to stand the tortured expression in his partner’s eyes.
"Take it easy." he told him, patting him on the shoulder and then turning to turn down the lamp, "No-one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to. O.K?" He glanced briefly at Heyes who gave a small nod, looking like a lost child.
"Sleep well." Curry muttered, gruffly, turning and heading for the door. Heyes didn’t answer, but Curry could feel his eyes boring into his back as he left the room, pulling the door shut after him and leaning against it, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.
"Come, sit down." Lom indicated an armchair by the fire, opposite to the one he was sitting in.
Curry walked over and sat down, accepting the glass of scotch Lom offered him, gazing pensively into the fire, every muscle in his body stiff with tension.
Lom eyed him thoughtfully, "Relax." he told him presently, "He’s gonna be O.K."
Curry smiled wryly into his glass. He’d thought he was hiding his feelings well.
"How come you read people so well?" he asked
Lom shrugged, "I see all sorts in my job. You learn a lot about human behaviour being a Sheriff. And don’t forget, I’ve known you and Heyes a long time. I can tell when something’s bothering you." He smiled, "I know you’re worried about Heyes, but he’ll be fine."
Curry sighed, "I guess." he said, unconvinced. Heyes was on the edge of something, he’d seen it in his eyes.
"You worry too much." said Lom, "I’ve seen Heyes down before. He’ll be O.K."
Curry shook his head, "I don’t know. I haven’t seen him look the way he did just now since… since the day our folks were killed." He paused momentarily, remembering, "Heyes saw it you know… saw them… slaughtered, like animals… right in front of him."
Lom gave him a startled glance. Neither of them had ever spoken about their parent’s deaths other than to say they had died while they were children.
"How old were you?"
"I was seven. Heyes was nine." Curry replied, his expression becoming anguished as he thought again about that day.
"What happened?" Lom ventured.
Curry shrugged, still finding it hard, even after all these years, to talk about it, "Bushwhackers came to our farms. They… forced the men to watch… while they… raped… the women…" He couldn’t bear to say ‘Mothers’ and ‘Fathers’, it made it too painful, "…and then… slit their throats… before burning everything to the ground." He sighed heavily, "I'd skipped off my chores, to go fishing, and didn’t know what had happened." He paused briefly, lost in thought, before saying, "I remember him coming to find me, to tell me… It’s funny, I hadn’t thought of it in years, but… something in his eyes just now… reminded me of how he looked that day..." He shrugged, looking up at Lom.
"He looked like that just now… only this time… it’s him that’s dead… inside…You know?"
Lom nodded, feeling desperately sorry for what they’d suffered, "But he survived before, and he will again." he told him, "He just needs time. Heyes is no quitter. It’ll take a while, but he’ll get there."
"I hope so."
They sat up late, talking. Curry looked in on Heyes before they turned in, worried he might be having more bad dreams, but he was deeply asleep, his arms sprawled across the pillow, the covers, as usual, almost on the floor. Curry didn’t bother to pick them up. Heyes always did hate heavy bedclothes. One blanket was more than enough for him.
"O.K?" asked Lom as he closed the door.
Curry smiled, making an ‘O’ with his thumb and forefinger.
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