The Color Of Rage

Those soulless eyes just keep staring at me.

I took another sip of my whiskey, glaring back from underneath my sweat-soaked brown hat at the lifeless barn owl taxidermy perched on the sill of the bar's fireplace mantle. It returned my gaze with such contempt that my spine shivered.

I swiveled on my barstool to face the bar again.

I hate myself already, does this dead bird have to berate me too? Must it goad me to act? I know I'm entertaining cowardice, but do I really need to be eye-lectured by a fowl? I think not.

I clenched my teeth as the edge of my shot-glass broke the seal of my lips, allowing the warm sting of the whiskey to whip at my gums and travel down my throat.

The whiskey did exactly the opposite of what I hoped it would, bringing my memories to the forefront of my consciousness. I wanted a respite. I wanted to forget--to accept.

If I am to let this go, I need to forget my wife. I need to accept she is no longer my woman. She belongs to Hennessy Croft now, just like everything else about this town.

Still, the way that man barged into my life and overturned everything. How could I just accept it?

I can still see the wicked glint of domination in his eyes as he slapped me and had his men drag Margaret from my home. He was jealous of me. I had the one thing in the world he could not.

I darted my eyes back at the owl, knowing it must be affecting my whiskey like this.

"Damn superstition." I muttered to myself, recalling how Margaret would lovingly react to my eccentric beliefs about nature.

When a man truly feels the authentic fiery love of a woman, he is forever scarred when that love is robbed from him. I love Margaret and I know she loves me. Hennessy only lusts for her. She chose me, not him, and he could not accept that. If he could break up a marriage simply because he decided he would not accept it, how could I just accept this? This is a world where the strongest take what they want, and I am definitely the stronger of us.

I sat up as Hennessy paraded down a flight of stairs with my wife at his side holding his hand. He had dressed her up in a painfully revealing dress, exposing her shoulders entirely.

He does this on purpose to humiliate me.

Hennessy sat himself at a table amongst other distinguished gentlemen, preparing to enjoy a game of cards. Margaret rested her hands on his shoulders and feigned a smile for the men to leer at.

The eyes of the owl on the mantle seemed to sear into my back with disgust, watching me do nothing.

I could bear this punishment no longer. I could not stand by as my wife attended to and pleased other men. She is my wife and I must claim her as such if I am even to think myself worthy of having her.

Hennessy shot a glance at me and turned to look up at Margaret. She bent to his lips and he whispered something to her. She then immediately headed back up the stairs but as she went, Hennessy signaled to one of his many henchmen standing in the area to follow her. He obeyed as instantly as Margaret had.

I paused to savor the emotion I felt.

Ah, yes. Rage. The kind of anger that drives a man crazy. The kind of anger that must be satiated with one thing: blood. Blood is the color of rage. That very color, blood-red, is seeping in at the edges of my vision right now.

I watched her as she left. When she rounded the corner out of my sight, my anger burst from my blood-vessels into my muscles. I stood up, ejecting my seat from beneath me. I hurled my glass at the barn owl and knocked it off the mantlepiece to keep it from jeering at me.

I swung toward Hennessy as the entire bar jolted from the noise of the crashing glass. Hennessy sat stone-still, that wicked smirk on his face.

He thinks he can still push me around.

I yanked my pistol from its holster and pointed it at him from across the table.

His eyes lifted weakly from his hand of cards, "What are you doing, Carson?"

"I'm done with this, Croft!" I shouted. "I'm not taking it no more!"

He chuckled, "Not taking what anymore?"

I noted his men position themselves to take me out, all of them placing their hands beneath their thick coats and facing me squarely. My brain instantly calculated which to shoot first if the time came.

"You and your band of cohorts here are done running this town, and you're sure as hell done riding my woman all over the place. She's not just some object for you to steal and show off to everyone!" I tightened my hold on the pistol.

"She's not your woman, mate. I don't know how many times we have to go through this charade."

"You're relaxed because you don't think I'm going to do anything." I stated vehemently.

"You haven't for the past week since you brought this up. Why would you do so now?"

Four red flashes discharged from my pistol, sending four of Hennessy's men to hell. I blinked in shock, my body having reacted without my brain's input.

Two bullets left.

Realizing what was done, I ducked behind the bar as one of the remaining bodyguards drew his weapon and fired at me, sending glass everywhere.

I heard the frantic clumping of Hennessy's panicked footsteps heading up the stairs, along with his group of rich friends. The air smelled like gunpowder and burning meat.

I need to reload if I am going to get past these last three men left in the room with me.

I nimbly undid my pistol and swapped out the hot used casings for bullets. Heavy footsteps began nearing my position. I stood up abruptly and fired a shot through the first man's forehead. As he collapsed, I ducked, missing a shot, and fired twice into the next man, then unloaded the rest of my cylinder into the last man.

Wow, I did not know I was such a good shot.

My attention turned to the stairwell and I hurried up it, reloading my revolver.

"I'm coming for you, Marg! I didn't forget you! I won't let this happen any longer!" I shouted, tears streaming from my eyes.

Finally, I will prove how strong my love for her is. I will be her hero--her savior. I will be worthy of her love then.

When I reached the top, a man lunged at me with a knife, slashing my pistol out of my hand and plunging the blade at my torso. I countered immediately with a punch to his face and a deflection of the knife with my opposite hand. I then wrenched the blade from his hands and dashed his head against the wooden corner of the wall.

A second attacker advanced as the first slumped to the ground. I hurled the knife at him and dodged two of his shots, lurching for my own pistol. I slid on the floorboards to it and successfully aimed death into my opponent, sending him to the ground.

After picking myself up and a quick analysis of my injuries, I raced to find the door that belonged to Hennessy's room, the place I knew all of them would be taking refuge.

I slammed my fist against the door, sending splinters and dirt up in a little cloud, "I'm comin' for ya, baby!" I wept and bent my head to the door, snot oozing from my nose. Pain raked across my body as my adrenaline levels started to lessen. "You better open this right now, Hennessy, if you have any idea what's good for you. Come out and fight me like a man. You're all tough when you've got your boys with ya, but how bout now when it's just you and me, huh!?" I banged the door again after no response. "Your rich friends in there can't protect you!" All I could hear through the door was Margaret sobbing, a sound that cracked my heart and bolstered my resolve to rescue her.

Hennessy's weak voice crept through the slivers of light between the boards of the door, "Just take your money and go, Donovan. I'm sorry I dragged you into this and things went the way they did. Please, just leave."

My eyebrows furrowed.

What in hell is he talking about, that stupid fool.

"I'm not going nowhere without my Margaret! Now you open up or I'm busting this down!"

Margaret let out another sob.

I waited another minute but nothing happened. "I'm coming, darling!" I blasted my foot through the door, thrusting it from its hinges. It landed in the middle of the room as I barged through the sawdust.

I came in face-to-face with Hennessy, his four friends, and Margaret. I slid to the right and blasted the bravest of the rich men as he aimed his revolver at me. I shot each of the other men in succession, leaving only Hennessy alive.

I glared right into Hennessy's soul through his eyes, conveying to him these were his last moments and that my smoking gun would be the last thing he saw. My rage left me the minute I looked to Margaret and met her tear-soaked eyes.

Her tears smeared her mascara all over her face and revealed a large purple bruise about her eye. My rage flickered back to life at that, knowing Hennessy had raised a hand to my wife.

I barred my teeth and raised my pistol at him, "I hope you rot in hell."

Hennessy held up his arms helplessly, "Donovan, don't do this," he pleaded. "Think about your reputation. No one will ever hire your gun again."

I cocked my head diagonally.

I was not a gun for hire.

"Goodbye, Hennessy." I squeezed back on my trigger, blasting a hole through Hennessy's forehead.

Margaret put her hand over her chest and recoiled to the window, bumping against a table. She looked like a scared rodent, the way she pressed herself up against the wall.

I lowered my gun and dropped it on the plank floor. I smiled at her and raised my arms, welcoming her into a hug. She stayed in her corner, continuing to cry and hide her face from me.

"Darling, what's wrong? You're safe now." I asked, tears beginning to well up in my eyes.

Had Hennessy broken my beautiful wife so much she could no longer love me?

She sniffled and managed to shout, "Get away from me, you creep!"

I staggered a few paces back, hurt by her exclamation.

How could she say such a thing to me? I deserved her gratitude, her love, her respect. I had just slain an entourage of her captors just for her to spit in my face and call me a 'creep?'

"Margaret, you're safe now. You're free. It's ok." I replied softly, not coming any closer. I stared down at my fingertips, unable to see my fingerprints through the blood on my hands.

Maybe I am scaring her with how bloody I look.

She wiped at her eyes, "I slept with you for one night and now you think I am your wife?! You just killed your own boss! My boss too! Oh, what am I gonna do now? Go off somewhere with you!? You're a crazy cowboy! Absolutely bonkers!"

This is not the Margaret I expected to greet me at the end of my efforts.

"Baby, what are you talking about? We were married for two years before Hennessy took you from me." I swallowed, hoping she would remember.

Instead, she huffed and gave me the same contemptuous look the barn owl gave me downstairs, "I met you six days ago, Mister. You weren't crazy then, but you're certainly crazy now!"

"Ok, enough is enough, Margaret." I stated, moving toward her.

"My name is Esther!!" She screeched, swiping her nails across my face, and raced out of the room crying.

I stumbled back and fell into a corner by the doorway, rubbing at the blood dripping into my eyes. I looked up and widened my eyes at the sight of the barn owl from the mantlepiece swooping in from outside and perching itself on the open windowsill of the room.

"What in the--how are you--?" I stuttered.

Was it actually a taxidermy I was looking at downstairs or was it just being really still and watching me?

It swiveled its head directly at me and narrowed its eyes, boring its disgust into my soul and letting me know it was the same owl from the mantlepiece. Without one word, it judged me, told me I was a lonely wreck of a man who could never be redeemed for my crimes. It spurned me for not even being able to save my actual wife, whom I suppose I had lost forever.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I sobbed, stuffing my face in my grimy hands.

It scowled as if to answer, "Penance."

I inhaled and looked up, not knowing what to do. I heard the footsteps of the sheriff and bartender stop at the doorway to the room and felt their eyes as they watched me stare at the window. I did not react and just continued to cry in my palms.

I am broken.

"Well?" The bartender prodded, gesturing for the sheriff to do something. "Hennessy's dead now. You can arrest him."

The sheriff shrugged and stepped inside, hoisting me to my feet, "Come on, now, Mr. Carson. Your days of terror are over."

I pointed at the demon that was the owl. "Do you see what I see?"

The sheriff looked where I pointed and back at me, "The open window?"

I sniffled, "No, the owl. The damned OWL!!!"

"Alright, we're goin' now," The sheriff spun me around and cuffed my wrists together. "Your gunslinger days are over."

The bartender tapped his temple, "He's touched,"

"Obviously," the sheriff agreed.

As the sheriff marched me down the stairs and out of the bar to his jail, I saw Margaret one last time. She was still crying and even as I passed her, she only watched me with hate and fear in her eyes. My Margaret was gone. I glanced to the right to see if the barn owl was on the ground with my shot-glass.

The sheriff pressed me onward but I pushed back at him to strain to see if my owl still lay where it landed.

I had to see it. If I was to have any peace of mind, I had to see it one last time, lifeless, where I had left it.

When I finally managed to get a peek, the spot where it fell was empty and it was no longer there.

What kind of hell is this?