Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray #4

[arcalian]

Issue #4: "Trouble in Paradise"
Written by: Susan Hillwig
Cover by: Susan Hillwig and James Stubbs
Edited by: Jay McIntyre

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. If you are not a United States citizen, you may contact your country's consulate prior to any questioning. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?”

“Roundabout,” Jonah Hex grunted. He was laying on his stomach as Officer Thornton handcuffed Jonah’s wrists behind his back. Normally, he wouldn’t have given up without a struggle, but considering that he might get shot if he did struggle, and that might cause him to revert back to being a corpse like the last time he got shot...well, that would lead to a whole ‘nother set of problems. So he swallowed his pride and decided to do whatever the officer told him until he could think of a good way out of this. Worst part of it was, with all the adrenaline pumping through his system, Jonah had sobered up right quick.

“Do you understand your rights?” the officer repeated. “Yes or no?”

“Yessir.”

“Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk now?”

“Yeah, Ah do.” Jonah twisted his head as best he could so as to look at the policeman. “Don’t yuh think yo’re goin’ a mite overboard here? Ah ain’t done nobody a lick of harm.”

“Do you have a concealed weapons permit?”

“Ah don’t even know whut thet is.”

“Then no, I’m not going overboard.”

Jonah considered saying more, then decided to follow that whole advice about remaining silent. Still, this was damned ridiculous: Jonah had reckoned that carrying his guns out in the open might invite trouble, so he’d kept them hidden ever since his resurrection, but the idea that it was illegal to even possess them never crossed his mind. No, it cain’t be illegal, Jonah thought. This fella said something about a permit. Either way, it’s the stupidest law Ah’ve ever heard of. He was beginning to wish he’d resisted the urge to give Paradise Corners a closer look. Perhaps there was a good reason why his mind had blanked out nearly all memory of this place, and he should have steered clear of it the minute he saw the sign alongside the road. A bit late tuh be havin’ second thoughts now, Jonah boy, he told himself as Officer Thornton pulled him to his feet. A few people had gathered a discreet distance away, and while the notion of gawkers was nothing new to Jonah, he was puzzled over the small metallic rectangles he saw some of the people holding out at arm’s length like talismans. He also heard one of them say something about a “U-tube”, which was just a foreign a word to him as “Breathalyzer”. A hunnert years passes, an’ nobody kin speak proper English no more.

The officer’s vehicle was parked just a short walk from where he’d arrested Jonah. He opened the rear door and put a hand on top of Jonah’s hat as he nudged him inside, saying, “Watch your head.” Once his prisoner was stowed away, Thornton got in the front, setting Jonah’s duffle bag on the empty seat beside him. Then he picked up a small black box tethered to the dashboard -- Jonah recalled seeing one like it inside Maggie’s truck. “You there, Dave?” Thornton said into the device.

“Right here, John,” a voice replied. “You find that D-and-D?”

“Sure thing...and we might be adding a concealed weapons charge to his bill, as well.”

“What do you mean, ‘might’?”

“He’s got a pair of revolvers, but to be honest, they look so old, I don’t know if they’re functional.” Thornton plucked one of Jonah’s Dragoons out of the bag and held it near his nose. “I can smell gunpowder on them, though, so they’re not props.”

“We’ll hammer it out once you bring him back to the station,” Dave said. “Want me to run the I.D. on your guy?”

“No I.D. to run. No wallet, even, just a few bucks stuffed in his pocket.”

“Okay, we’ll do it manually, then. He at least give you a name?”

“Hold on.” Thornton turned to look at Jonah through the wire mesh separating them. “What’s your name?”

“Jonah,” he replied.

“Your full name. And for the record, the ‘remaining silent’ part of the Miranda warning doesn’t apply to us asking about who you are or other personal data.”

The bounty hunter hesitated. While his memories regarding Paradise Corners were few and far between, one of them involved a woman named Christina Thornton...and since this policeman had the same last name, it was a good chance they were related. Until Jonah remembered exactly what he’d done in this town way back in the 19th Century, it seemed wise to not tell Christina Thornton’s 21st Century descendant who he really was. Recalling what he’d seen on many of the old tombstones in the cemetery, he finally said, “Jonah Smith.”

“Home address?” Thornton asked, and Jonah replied that he didn’t have a home. “Date of birth?” he continued.

“November 1st, eighteen...er, Ah mean, nineteen...” Jonah flushed as he tried to think of a modern date that would match up to his youthful looks, then mumbled, “Ah don’t remember.”

There was brief look of doubt in the policeman’s eye, but he turned back around and repeated the information into the radio, followed by, “About five-foot-eleven, medium build, reddish-blond hair, blue eyes, no visible scars or tattoos.”

Not anymore, at least, Jonah thought as he settled back in the seat. He imagined this Dave fella flipping through a mug book like the Pinkertons used, searching for any criminals that might match Jonah’s description. Lord knows whut Ah’ll do if’n there is one.

Once he was done on the radio, Thornton set the vehicle in motion, giving the police siren a quick blat to let the other drivers know he was pulling into the late-afternoon traffic. There was no urgency to get Jonah to the station, as it was merely a drunk-and-disorderly charge at the moment, and Jonah hadn’t been putting up too much of a struggle. As they made their way down the road, Thornton threw a glance up at the rear view mirror to look at Jonah. To his surprise, Jonah was looking right back at him, his eyes focused on the mirror with an intensity that made Thornton want to drive a little faster.

About five minutes after they left the town square, the radio squawked to life: “John, what’s your twenty?”

“I’m on Beaconsfield, south of Main. Why, what’s up?”

“The alarm just got tripped over at the Stop N’ Go. I need you over there now.”

“Then call one of the other guys. I’ve got a guy in my backseat already, remember?”

“Everybody else is tied up all over town. You’re the closest.”

“Dammit,” Thornton whispered, then said into the radio, “I’m on it.” He flipped some switches on the dashboard, and the lights and siren sprang to life as he whipped the vehicle around -- the other automobiles on the road parted before him like water. A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a small convenience store. “This is a slightly unusual situation,” Thornton said to Jonah as the officer readied to leave the vehicle, “but if you can sit still and not cause trouble, I’ll keep that in mind when I’m writing up your report. Understand?”

“Sure.” Jonah did his best to look harmless while Thornton got out, slamming the car door behind him. As the policeman approached the entrance of the Stop N’ Go, Jonah studied his posture, the way he held his pistol, the expression on his face. It was an instinctive action on Jonah’s part, born from decades of gunfights where tiny observations like that could mean the difference between life and death. Overall, John Thornton looked like he knew what he was doing, and the deep-green aura he gave off as he strode into the store showed that he believed enough in himself to make good use of his abilities. It almost made Jonah feel guilty that he’d lied about sitting still, but he damn-well wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to escape.

[arcalian]

The moment Thornton passed out of sight, Jonah got to work. Though the officer had been smart enough to cuff Jonah’s hands behind his back, that didn’t mean he couldn’t slip them around to the front again -- it wasn’t an easy trick, but it could be done. Laying across the seat, Jonah arched his back so that he could slide his buttocks thorough the loop made by his arms. It felt like his shoulders might separate from the maneuver, but he knew the pain wouldn’t last long and ignored it. Once that was done, his cuffed wrists were now caught behind his knees. Now comes the hard part, he thought, then brought his legs up to his chest, so that his knees nearly brushed his ears, and hooked his bootheels onto the chain connecting the metal bracelets. With all the strength he could muster, he pushed his legs away from his chest while pulling his wrists towards himself in an effort to break the chain. This made the pain he’d felt earlier pale in comparison, as the cuffs cut into his wrists to the point where they drew blood. Doesn’t matter, he told himself. If’n thet cussed black ring inside of yuh kin repair a hole in yer head, then a few scrapes on yer wrists should be a cakewalk. So he pushed harder, until the cuffs suddenly popped off of his blood-slick hands, shredding skin and snapping bone in the process. He cradled his ruined hands to his chest, cursing a blue streak as he waited for the ring to perform its little trick. Sure enough, his hands began to revert to a desiccated state, taking the pain with it. Thet’s better. Still a mite unsettlin’ tuh see, but better. Now, let’s try an’...

A gunshot rang out, and Jonah froze, looking out the police car’s windshield. He thought perhaps Thornton had come out, seen what Hex was doing, and fired a warning shot, but no one was there. Then he heard muffled screams coming from the direction of the Stop N’ Go. Unfortunately, there were no windows on the building, nor was he at a good angle to see through the glass door, so he couldn’t tell what was going on. How long had Thornton been in there, anyways? A minute, perhaps two? A lot could happen in two minutes, especially if guns were involved. Ain’t none of yer business, Jonah boy, he told himself. Just get the Hell outta here afore Thornton really does see yuh. The thought had no sooner formed in his mind when he spied a figure coming out of the convenience store. It was a young man, cloaked in a fluctuating shades of yellow and orange. In one hand he clutched a large paper bag, and in the other was a pistol. Jonah expected Thornton to emerge next, but he didn’t. The young man staggered over to a rusty automobile parked nearby and fumbled with the handle, eating up seconds of getaway time, yet Thornton still didn’t come out of the building. Jonah watched all this in silence, while in his mind he began to hear the voice of a little boy, just like he’d heard in the cemetery...a little boy begging Jonah Hex for help.

A snarl came to his lips, and for a brief moment, he resembled the Jonah Hex of old, a man as well-known for his scarred visage as for his deadly gunslinging. Making a fist, he punched through the side window, not even feeling the shards of glass that cut into his corpselike hand, then climbed out of the police car. Meanwhile, the thief struggled to get inside his own vehicle, not realizing yet that he’d accidentally locked the door. This mistake gave Jonah enough time to break into the front of the police car and retrieve his belongings, including his Dragoons. He held one of them at the ready as he strode over to the thief, who’d regained enough of his composure to unlock the car and was now trying to start it. Taking careful aim, Jonah sent a bullet through the automobile’s back window, then shouted, “Get out of thet tin can afore Ah put one through yer thick skull!”

There was a slight hesitation, then the thief opened the car door and threw himself face-first on the ground, his hands behind his head. “Jesus...I’m sorry, I didn’t...I just needed...oh Jesus God, I’ve never...”

“Shut up!” Jonah bent over and shoved the barrel of his Dragoon against the thief’s temple, an action which made the thief wet his pants. “If’n thet policeman yuh just shot was here, Ah’m sure he’d rattle off thet list of rights an’ such...but he ain’t here, an’ Ah don’t give a damn ‘bout whut rights a skunk like yerself has. Yuh hear me, boy?”

“Oh God, don’t kill me...”

“Why shouldn’t Ah? Give me one good reason.” Jonah cocked back the hammer on his Dragoon. “Come on, first one that pops into thet empty head of yers.”

“Baby...baby...”

Jonah thought at first that the thief was still begging, albeit in a strange manner, then he saw a ripple of indigo and violet beneath the man’s yellow aura. Not moving the Dragoon away, Jonah reached into the vehicle with his free hand and grabbed the paper bag. Inside, he found various small jars, all with pictures of infants on them. He plucked one out of the bag and read the label: Gerber Strained Peas. “Yuh stole all this tuh feed a baby?” he asked. The thief nodded vigorously, and Jonah pulled the gun away from his head, saying, “Yo’re lucky Ah ain’t fond of makin’ orphans.”

“Th-thank you...thank...”

“Yuh ain’t out of the woods yet, so hush.” Jonah turned his head and saw a knot of people standing out by the sidewalk -- like the gawkers at the town square, a bunch of them were holding up those rectangular things. He considered going over there and grabbing one just so he could figure out what the Hell it was, but he resisted the urge and instead pointed at a burly man in a leather coat, saying to him, “Y’all come on over here an’ keep an eye on this fella.” It took a second for the man to respond, but once he did, Jonah headed over to the entrance of the convenience store, tucking his gun under his belt out of habit.

The smell of blood and gunpowder hit him the instant he pushed the door open. Thornton was sprawled on the floor near the cash register, with a young woman that Jonah assumed was the clerk kneeling next to him, her hands pressed to the upper right side of Thornton’s chest. The woman looked up as Jonah approached, saying to him, “It won’t stop. I thought if you put pressure on the wound, the blood’s supposed to stop.”

Jonah didn’t answer. It was obvious from the location of the wound and the wet sound that accompanied Thornton’s ragged breathing that bullet had pierced his lung. “Is there a doctor in town?” he asked.

“I called 911, but you know how long they always take.”

Actually, Jonah didn’t know in the least, so he dismissed the statement and focused on helping Thornton. A pool of blood was forming beneath the officer, who had mercifully passed out from shock. If Jonah couldn’t find a way to stop the bleeding, though, Thornton might not ever wake up again. His eyes flicked up to the wall behind the cash register, where row after row of cigarettes were on display. Spotting what he wanted, Jonah stepped behind the counter and grabbed a clear bag of pipe tobacco. “What are you doing?” the woman asked.

“An old trick,” Jonah said as he returned to Thornton’s side. “Yuh pack this against the wound, so’s the blood kin clot up in it. Ain’t perfect, but it should keep things under control ‘til the doctor gets here.” He reached over to move the woman’s hands so he could get to work, which caused her to shriek when she noticed the state his own hands were in. “Ah’ve looked worse,” he informed her, then ripped open the bag and pressed a clump of tobacco into the chest wound. “Gonna have tuh do the backside too. Help me roll ‘im over...easy, now.” The woman did as Jonah ordered, though she let out a moan at the sight of the mess beneath Thornton. “Don’t yuh start wailin’, girl,” Jonah snapped, “or so help me, Ah’ll give yuh a reason tuh wail.” But even after the clerk managed to get herself under control, Jonah could still hear that little boy’s voice from so long ago echoing in his head: You gotta help, mister...you just gotta...please. “Ah’m doin’ whut Ah kin, boy,” Jonah said under his breath. “Don’t know whut Ah did back then, but Ah’m doin’ everything Ah kin right now.”

As Jonah finished applying his frontier dressing, he heard a high, keening wail cut through the air. He looked over at the glass door and saw a boxy white vehicle drive into the parking lot. A man and a woman immediately got out of the vehicle and, after pulling a stretcher and some other equipment out of the back, made a beeline into the convenience store. “How’s he doing?” one of them asked as they came in.

“Fella’s got a punctured lung, lost a good amount of blood.” Jonah stepped out of the way so the medics could do their job, but not before asking them, “Y’all kin fix thet, right?”

“We can get it started, but the docs over at Mercy Hospital will finish it.” The medic raised an eyebrow upon seeing the tobacco. “What the heck did you do?”

“Same as always: the best Ah could with whut Ah had.” Jonah heard another wail outside, which he recognized as the same made by Thornton’s police car, and decided now would be a good time to depart. There was a chance that his arrest might be forgotten about in the midst of all this commotion, but he thought it best to not push his luck. Taking advantage of the growing amount of people outside the convenience store, Jonah slipped away before the arriving officers could take notice of him. He didn’t run once he was clear of the crowd, he just kept walking, doing his best not to draw attention to himself. About twelve blocks away from the store, Jonah passed a boarded-up building, which he decided would be a good place to hide out until nightfall. As he jimmied open the building’s back door, part of Jonah’s mind kept hollering that he should quit screwing around and get the Hell out of this town, but another part kept dwelling on the way all the color had been slowly leaching out of Thornton’s still form as the black crept in. He couldn’t leave yet, not with that image burned into his brain.

Jonah hunkered down on the dusty floor inside the abandoned building and looked at his hands: they were fully healed now, as if he’d suffered no injuries at all, just like when he’d been shot in the head a couple of days before. Meanwhile, Thornton catches one measly bullet and ends up hovering somewhere between life and death. It didn’t seem fair in the least. “Ah don’t rightly know why Yuh brought me back, Lord,” Jonah said, still staring down at his unmarred hands. “Maybe it is fer some sort of penance, maybe not. If’n it is...well, Ah don’t think lettin’ this poor fella die should be a part of it. Ah may not remember whut exactly Ah did in this here town way back when, but Ah reckon Ah might’ve harmed his family enough already.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Ah ain’t askin’ fer much here, Lord, just thet Thornton makes it through this in one piece an’ Yuh let me know it. After thet, Y’all kin put me through the wringer any way Yuh see fit. How does thet sound?”

The only answer was silence, and Jonah sighed again as he leaned back against a wall and waited for night to come.

[arcalian]

John Thornton was exhausted. The trauma of being shot, coupled with the hours spent on an operating table as doctors sewed him back together, had left him feeling drained. Still, he’d managed to put on a good front when his wife and kids saw him in the recovery room. They’d only been allowed to visit for a short while, but it was enough to assuage their fears that he might not make it. To be sure, he’d be spending the next few days in a hospital bed, and it’d be weeks or even months before he’d be able to go back to work, but the important thing was that he was alive. He kept reminding his wife of that fact as she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. Sore as Hell, yes, and a little short of breath, but alive. It was a good thing to be, a great thing, and he had some drunk stranger to thank for it.

As he lay in the dim room with only the hum of the respirator for company, Thornton’s mind puzzled over the odd events from earlier that day. After he’d regained consciousness, Dave and George had filled him in on what he’d missed: apparently, the guy Thornton picked up on a drunk-and-disorderly had broken out of the police car to stop the perp that shot Thornton (over seventeen dollars’ worth of baby food, no less), then took the time to perform some MacGyver-esque first aid on Thornton before vanishing into thin air. It didn’t make any sense, but multiple witnesses, including the EMTs, all told the cops the same story. But why did the guy do it? Anybody else would’ve hightailed it the moment they broke free, but he stayed to help. Maybe it was just to prove that he wasn’t deserving of arrest. It didn’t matter anyways, the guy was long gone. He should just be thankful for the little miracle and leave it at that. Still...

“How yuh feelin’, son?”

Thornton lifted his head to see that the door to his room was open a crack, letting in just enough light for him to make out the outline of a man in a wide-brimmed hat. “You...what’re you...” Thornton gasped, his heart beating so fast that it made his chest hurt even more.

“Don’t fret, Ah ain’t here tuh cause a ruckus,” the man who’d identified himself earlier as Jonah Smith said. “Ah just wanted tuh make sure y’all were okay.”

“Aside from the hole in my lung, I’m pretty alright.” Thornton’s voice was muffled by the oxygen mask over his face. “You took a chance coming up here, you know. You’re still under arrest.”

“Ah know, thet’s why Ah’ve been dodgin’ every policeman Ah’ve seen on muh way up here.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Yuh gonna tell on me?”

Thornton took a few breaths, then said, “No...no, I don’t think I will. Just so long as you tell me why you saved me.”

“Because Ah think Ah might’ve done yer family wrong, a long time ago.” Jonah stepped over to Thornton’s bedside. “Yuh may not believe this, but Ah ain’t as young as Ah look.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah’ve been tuh Paradise Corners afore. ‘Bout maybe a hunnert and thirty years back, Ah think. Don’t recall much of whut happened durin’ thet last visit, though. Just a name -- Christina Thornton -- an’ a little boy askin’ me tuh save his ma. The rest is a big blank.” A look of distress crossed Jonah’s face. “Ah’ve seen a tombstone out in the cemetery with her name on it, an’ Ah’ve got this godawful feelin’ thet Ah’m responsible fer puttin’ her there.”

Thornton stared at the man for a good long while, thinking about the ancient guns in Jonah’s bag as well as his odd behavior. “Your name isn’t really Smith, is it?”

“No, sir. It’s Hex...Jonah Hex. Ah was bounty hunter back then.”

“Good Lord.” The officer laid back and stared at the ceiling. “I always thought that story was bull.”

“Come again?”

“My grandpa used to tell a story about a guy that helped out our family back when we first moved out to California. My great-great-grandma, she’d been widowed early, and owed money on the farm. Then one day, some outlaw on the run broke into the house and took her hostage. She was saved by this bounty hunter who’d been tracking down the outlaw.” Thornton let out a string of coughs, groaned, then continued to speak. “The bounty hunter...I don’t know why...he used the reward money to pay off the debt on the farm. No real reason, he just...he just did it and left.” He looked over at Jonah. “Are you telling me that you’re the same guy?”

“Ah think Ah might be.” A wave of relief washed over Jonah. Thornton’s story matched up with what little he could recall, and that altruistic gesture was certainly something he’d done from time to time in the past. It was his odd way of keeping the world in balance: random acts of kindness to offset all the blood he spilled on a near-daily basis. As he mulled it over, a new memory began to surface. His brow furrowed, Jonah said, “Ah’m not sure, but...Ah think we might’ve crossed paths a few years later. Ah’d gotten into trouble with the law, an’ she...she gave me a place tuh hide. She said it made us even. Ah didn’t make the connection ‘til just now.” He rubbed a hand against his forehead. “Here Ah was, thinkin’ all day thet Ah’d gotten her killed, an’ Ah didn’t even remember thet she’d helped me out later on.”

“So I guess since you saved my life today, my family owes you a favor again.”

“Yuh just repaid it. All Ah’ve really got left of muh old life is memories, an’ havin’ a great big hole in ‘em like thet is a mite disconcertin’...so thank yuh, son.” Jonah turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. “By the by, y’all still got thet farm?”

“It’s just a house and about five acres of land now, but yeah. My parents still live out there, and with luck, my boys will inherit it one day.”

Jonah nodded. “Land’s a good thing tuh hold onto. Means yuh’ll always have a place tuh call home.” He slipped out the door, saying, “Y’all be careful out there, Thornton. Ah ain’t always gonna be there tuh save yer hide.”

As the door closed, the room became dim again, and eventually Thornton drifted off to sleep. In the morning, and for months afterward, Thornton would wonder if the conversation with Hex really took place or if it was the byproduct of too many painkillers.

[arcalian]

It was dark as pitch in the cemetery, but Jonah could see everything clearly. He found some wildflowers growing alongside the fence, and he paused to pick them before heading to the back of the cemetery, where Christina Thornton’s grave was located. Once there, he removed his hat, knelt down in front of the headstone, and lay the wildflowers beside it. He knew the grave was empty, just like all the others in the cemetery, but after his own experience of being a restless soul unable to move on, he thought that the same might be true for others. There was a possibility that, in such a hallowed place for the dead, scores of ghosts could be surrounding him at that very moment, and perhaps Christina Thornton was among their number. With that in mind, Jonah chose his words with great care:

“Ah just wanted tuh stop by an’ thank yuh fer rememberin’ me, Mrs. Thornton. It gives me a good feelin’ tuh know thet Ah actually made a dif’rence in somebody’s life. All’s Ah kin seem tuh recall with any clarity these days are the bad things Ah went through...all the times when Ah was hurt or when Ah hurt others. It don’t make fer a very rosy picture, an’ it...it pains me sometimes. So knowin’ thet Ah helped out someone, an’ thet it was appreciated fer so long afterward...thet takes a bit of the pain away. Ah wish Ah could remember more about yuh. Ah do remember yuh tellin’ me about yer boy, though. Yuh said he was growin’ up tuh be a fine young man, an’ Ah do believe thet yer great-great-grandson has turned out the same. Ah hope yuh kin see him, wherever yuh are, an’ thet yo’re proud of him, ‘cause John’s a right proper lawman. Ah’m glad tuh have met him, even if he did arrest me fer carryin’ a gun. He’ll do good by yer name, ma’am, Ah kin guarantee it. Thet’s...thet’s all Ah wanted tuh say.”

Jonah stood up, put his hat back on, and made his way to the cemetery gates. In his mind’s eye, he could see Christina Thornton as she was all those years ago: a slim woman with a smattering of freckles across her cheekbones and a fire in her eyes. An echo of those features still survived in John, now that Hex thought of it, and even just a little bit of her voice (or at least the rhythm of it). It was that voice that came back to him now, calling to him from a time long dead, extolling the same advice that she’d given him nearly a century-and-a-half ago: For his sake...for all our sakes...the best thing you can do is ride outta here and don’t never come back.

“Ah’ll try tuh remember thet this time around,” Jonah replied under his breath.

NEXT ISSUE: Jonah jumps “Out of the Frying Pan” and into you-know-what!

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