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“I already did it.”
Ringo’s eyes were dark, unblinking as he threw back his liquor. The mottled red light in the theatre made them even more unreadable than usual. They held an amber glint that reminded Curly Bill of flames.
But he laughed, because that’s what he always did when Ringo did or said something he just couldn’t believe. A Cowboy wasn’t scared of nothin’, but those moments always put his guard up.
Because the things that Johnny Ringo said and did turned out true often enough that Curly Bill was starting to believe him.
All too often he wondered what Johnny’s game was. Sure, he joked about what would happen when Johnny was in charge, but moments like this he wondered how long it would be before Ringo got tired of waiting. He was the fastest and deadliest Curly Bill had ever seen and Bill wouldn’t stand a chance against him if he chose to make a move.
He wasn’t a religious man, but he wondered as the cast took a bow and he grabbed another glass from a passing tray.
Could a man really sell his soul?
The burnt out church wasn’t much of a hideout, but Johnny Ringo lingered after the rest of the gang had gone. The charred hulk had given up all its valuables, save a couple bottles of communion wine. Slumped against the altar, Johnny uncorked one with his knife and took a long swig.
His parents had wanted him to be a priest, or a scholar. He grimaced. They wanted him to be tame and drab, a man with a head full of words and scripture.
He was good with words, but he was better with his guns and quick with a knife.
“Acta non verba.” He whispered to the empty church, spinning one of his guns idly around his fingers.
But those words had cursed him.
Ringo took aim at a fresco of Christ and fired, taking pleasure in the spray of dust and the marred artwork.
He had the conscience of a damned scholar. He couldn’t fire on another man. Not to kill.
Oh, he could steal and cheat and do harm. He was a ruthless son of a bitch, but his hand shook when it came time to finish things.
The wine was sharp and dry, mixing with the last whisps of acrid smoke and the arid heat of the day, making his head swim. It was too hot to go any further anyway, so he laid back and closed his eyes.
He dreamt of fire and blood.
He woke with a start to the boom of thunder and the panicked whinnies of his horse. His limbs were stiff, the air thick and tinged with sulfur.
Lightning struck in the distance. Johnny watched it with exhilaration.
Wild. Untamed. Powerful.
“I deserve to be like that.”
“And you shall.”
He had both guns on the stranger even before he took in his otherworldly appearance. He cocked one, then the other, hands shaking with nervous energy and that damnable philosophical rhetoric in the back of his mind.
“Who’re you?”
His eyes were playing tricks on him. Before him stood a figure wreathed in moving shadows. Beyond him the details of the ruined church seemed to fade in and out.
The smell of sulfur was stronger.
“A portion of the power which always works for evil and effects the good.”
The figure rasped with a hint of amusement.
“I believe you’ve read Faust, Mr. Ringo.”
It appeared to be a man, but his features were ever changing and indistinct, shifting with every change in expression. The only things Johnny could pick out for certain were his eyes, burning amber in the twilight and the wry quirk of his lips as he pulled open his stylish coat.
“And as you can see, I am unarmed. No need for those.” He nodded toward the pistols, reaching out to offer Johnny his cigarette.
“The devil can’t walk on holy ground.”
Johnny gave the guns a few spins, searching the stranger’s face for any reaction, before he holstered them. He could draw fast enough to protect himself if the need arose.
He accepted the cigarette. The smoke burned all the way down his throat and into his chest.
“You and your comrades have desecrated this ground.” The stranger cast an eye over the burnt pews and scattered candles. His gaze lingered on the ruined fresco.
“I may walk here if I please.”
Smoke puffed from his mouth with each word, even though Johnny still held the cigarette.
“You don’t believe me, Mr. Ringo.”
“Why would the Devil appear to me?” Johnny took another drag, heart beating faster.
Why indeed?
“I thought we could make a deal, Johnny. You’re a learned man.”
The voice boomed through the hollow church. Darkness was creeping in.
“You know how this works.”
Goosebumps crawled up Johnny’s arms, from fear or anticipation, he couldn’t tell.
He startled as lightning struck the remainder of the roof, leaving tendrils of flame licking their way along the beams.
His next drag on the cigarette left him coughing up sparks.
He regarded the grinning creature at length.
“What’s in it for me?”
“What do you want, Johnny Ringo?”
He didn’t have to think about it.
“I want to be the best. I want everyone to know my name. I want powerful men to step aside when I walk the street.”
Neither man flinched when lightning struck the altar, cracking it open. Johnny locked eyes with the stranger.
“And I’m going to do it.”
“Let me help. You know what it will cost you.” The stranger’s eyes glowed like polished copper, reflecting the spreading flames.
“I’ll make you the fastest there ever was.”
“I’m already the fastest." He pointed both guns at the stranger’s forehead.
“I want-“
“Say it Johnny, or I can’t help you.”
Johnny hesitated.
“I’m not a killer.”
The figure laughed in time with a clap of thunder.
“That’s an easy enough problem to solve.”
He spread his arms.
“Take your best shot.”
The guns rattled against Johnny’s rings. He took aim, took a breath and let them drop in shame.
The stranger laughed.
“Very well.”
He stepped forward.
“You’ll be the most ruthless killer the west has ever seen. Free from conscience, free from guilt, just like that lightning.”
Another bolt spiderwebbed across the sky.
“Yeah?” Johnny breathed.
The other man stuck out his hand.
“All it will cost you is your soul.”
What was a soul anyway; a lot of words and feelings.
“Alright.” Johnny breathed, “Let’s do it.”
He clasped the hand, which was hot as a brand and shook.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
But he didn’t feel any different. Johnny looked at his hand, and then up at the stranger.
“And now,” The stranger raised his left hand.
“My half of the bargain.”
Johnny went for his guns, but his hands were too heavy. Even the flames held still as the stranger put two fingers to Johnny’s temple.
It burned all the way through his skull and down his spine, like the marrow was boiling in his bones. Something coiled around his heart and squeezed. He may have screamed, but his blood was thundering so loud in his ears that he could hear nothing else.
Smoke filled the church.
When Johnny came back to himself he was kneeling on the floor. Rings of broken stones stretched out around him. The stranger stood before him, smiling his mocking smile.
A gunshot echoed in the sudden silence.
“A rather rude way to say thank-you.”
The stranger stared down at the hole in his chest.
“But as you can see, your request has been granted.”
Ringo emptied both guns into the cloud of smoke and laughter.
“This isn’t what I asked for you son of a bitch.”
Johnny lurched to his feet.
The words were still there. The scriptures and philosophies still crowded the back of his mind, stalking his every move.
“I sold you my soul. You were supposed to take all of that!”
He screamed out into the darkening night.
“You were supposed to make me free!”
It was all still there.
He put one gun to his temple, pulling the trigger just to hear the click of the empty chamber.
Fine, he would just have to ignore it. He would be the best there ever was. And he would drown all of those useless words in blood.
He rode out into the raging storm, something dark and wild moving across the plain.
And Hell followed with him.